Tide of Destiny
by Slide
Summary: What's a Bhaalspawn thief to do when he finds himself in Athkatla with a handful of allies, a kidnapped foster-sister to rescue, and a refusal to work with either the Shadow Thieves or Bodhi? COMPLETE
1. Enough'

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TIDE OF DESTINY

BOOK 1: PATH OF FAITH

Chapter 1: "Enough!"

Irenicus appeared to have an expression of something bordering on the edge of intense surprise as he viewed the assorted group of assassins before him, not even noticing the escaping party as they emerged from the rubble behind him, almost instantly and instinctively taking cover.

"You dare to attack me here?" Irenicus demanded, raising his hands threateningly, obviously in no mood for any delays that the assassins could offer him. "Do you even know whom you face?"

The assassins, who had so far ignored the saying 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend', at least where the escaping party was concerned, commenced an attack. Two of them danced across the rubble towards the mage with surprising agility, long swords drawn, a flurry of battle cries escaping their mouths as their pair of companions drew forth bows and shot arrows uselessly at Irenicus.

The mage, seemingly almost bored, incinerated the two advancing on him with a quick fireball, and a second spell caught one of the archers, instantly petrifying him solidly in stone. The final archer took one look at his surroundings as his comrades died around him, then turned and fled. The five onlookers considered it quite a wise move. 

"You will suffer! You will all suffer!" Irenicus almost shrieked, livid with rage, and a final fire arrow was sent lancing towards the petrified assassin, shattering him into hundreds of shards as if he had never been a living, breathing person.

Finally, the mage calmed down, and looked at his surroundings with a superior air. He spotted his former prisoners, perched high above him in the rubble, some trying to look inconspicuous, like Yoshimo, others, like Minsc and Jaheira, standing tall, defiant, ready for vengeance. "So, God-child, you have escaped," Irenicus declared, almost in a whisper as he looked at them. "You are more resourceful than I thought."

Imoen's head snapped up, and she glared at the mage with an expression more violent and malicious than any of them had ever seen on her face. "You're not going to torture us any longer!" she yelled at him, and all could see she intended to make that declaration a promise.

Once again, Irenicus looked surprised. "Torture?" he repeated, one eyebrow raised. Then he laughed as realisation sank in. "Silly girl, you just don't understand what I'm doing, do you?"

Imoen shook her head. "I don't care what you're doing! Let us go!" Slowly, in the front of the archmage's vicious and unrelenting gaze, her resolve seemed to be slipping a little, in acknowledgement of the fact that they might not walk away from this confrontation.

"I won't let you leave, not when I'm so close to unlocking your power." Irenicus's anger was back, as he slowly stalked up and down the rubble, not averting his gaze from the five former prisoners.

"We don't want anything from you!" And with that final declaration, Imoen let loose a flaming arrow, summoning all of the power she wielded, the power she had just discovered, and sending it all directly at Irenicus.

The mage appeared completely untouched. "Enough! I will no longer listen to the babbling of ignorant children!" he shouted at her, before retaliating with his own flurry of magic weaponry, the spells hitting so fast they could barely see them move.

Imoen's responses, whilst far from incompetent, were most certainly not enough to beat a mage as powerful as Irenicus, and magic missiles struck her repeatedly. Yet still, the girl held her ground, even though the battle was already lost, as far as they could see.

Then suddenly, all around them, dimension doors swirled into existence, and they were surrounded by almost a horde of cloaked and hooded figures, bearing little more than quarterstaffs as they brought the battle to a halt with their mere presence.

One figure, the tallest, took a step towards Irenicus. "This is an unsanctioned use of magical energy!" he intoned deeply, his voice plain and emotionless, and completely devoid of any distinguishing traits. "All involved will be held! This disturbance is over!"

Irenicus practically sighed as he surveyed them. "Must I be interrupted at every turn?" he demanded furiously. "Enough of this!" With that, he let loose another volley of magic, but this time, the response was far from weak. The hooded figures, with Imoen once again taking up her offensive role, assaulted the mage mercilessly.

Yet it was once more not enough. The magics thudded harmlessly off Irenicus, and his retaliation had all but wiped out the interlopers. This had not been the deliverance it quite appeared, and the situation was once more as dire and dangerous as it had ever been.

But then, yet more dimensional doors opened, and yet as many hooded figures appeared in their midst. "This mage's power is immense! We must overcome him quickly," one of the new arrivals snapped hurriedly, considerably less self-assured than his predecessor.

Irenicus, whilst far from being done, looked even more bored once more. "Your pathetic magics are useless. Let this end," he offered grimly, folding his arms across his chest, and for a moment looking deceptively vulnerable.

"Even if we fall, our numbers are many. You will be overwhelmed," the same figure insisted, this time more strongly, and his words rang with truth as Irenicus's steely gaze met his hooded one.

Irenicus sighed once more. "You bore me, mageling," he responded, then slowly, a malicious look crossed his face and he glanced up at his escaped prisoners. "You may take me in, but you _will_ take the girl as well," he declared finally, a look of triumph upon his face.

Shock hit everyone's faces, but, obviously, Imoen's most of all. "What?" she asked, in a small yet forceful voice. "No! I've done nothing wrong!" The panic that started to overwhelm her became perfectly clear as her position became defensive, and she threw a pleading look in the direction of her friends.

"You have been involved in an illegal use of magic and will come with us!" the leader of the hooded figures decided, waving his quarterstaff at her, and for once, his voice seemed to be one of weariness and anger. He clearly had no desire for another massive confrontation, although he had to know that one with Imoen would be far easier than the battle with Irenicus.

Dimension doors opened, and the hooded figure in the middle of the party grabbed Imoen by her arm, and pulled her towards them before any of her friends could intervene. "I'm not coming with them!" Imoen shrieked. "I'm not! Help me! Please!"

Then they were alone, except for the massive rubble, the corpses, and the few townspeople who were slowly milling towards them. The party leader, already wearied, flopped to the floor, ignoring the jagged rocks on his nearly unprotected skin as he lay back on the ground with despair, the outrage of his fellows washing over him, ignored. For the first time in weeks, his eyes turned skyward, and he could see the endless blue mass that had not been his companion in many, many days.

Even though it was mid-day, bright and clear, it seemed a whole lot darker than it had the last time he'd seen it.


	2. Reminiscing

Chapter 2: Reminiscing

Back at Candlekeep, Harrian Corias had always been fond of just finding a quiet place to lie, sitting back, and staring at the sky. Obviously, he had preferred night-time, watching the stars peacefully. They comforted him, calmed him, reminded him that he was merely a part of a big tapestry and that there was, in fact, a world beyond the walls of Candlekeep.

Imoen would have often joined him, and throughout their youth they would sneak out at night, clamber to the top of the haystack, and spend hours up there, sometimes in silence, more often talking – discussing what they planned to do with their lives, who they were going to be, where they wanted to go.

They had been simpler times, obviously. The worst thing they'd had to deal with was getting caught, and Harrian was convinced the those late-night escapades were where he first honed his thievery skills. Though he didn't like to call it thievery – productive reallocation of goods was a far better, and less criminals-sounding term. It was not uncommon for the two of them to sneak down to the larder and take whatever food they wanted for a midnight feast.

Simpler times.

Corias didn't miss them, to tell the truth. He was an adventurer at heart, a man who could not settle down for anyone or anything, a man born to wander and explore. People had classed him as a cheat and liar for his profession, much to his consternation, but that was something he'd been able to overcome. Eventually, you learnt that the opinions other people have of you wasn't as important as the opinion you had of yourself. A little more profound than his usual thoughts, but true, nonetheless.

He constantly maintained that he was not a petty man. Yes, he was a thief, and being a thief meant that he would steal things, obviously, but he would draw the line at mugging a drunk, or stealing some coppers from a poor family. It was irritatingly principled, he knew, and had often interfered with many of the tasks he had undertaken, but he would only steal goods from the rich, and only steal their luxuries – luxuries that would carry a fine price at market, and at worst would mildly inconvenience their former owners.

Gods, he was too soft. He'd probably never have survived out in the world if it hadn't been for Jaheira, Minsc. Some unscrupulous character would have probably found him, seen his skills, and exploited him. Edwin had attempted to do so the moment they had met him at Nashkell, and if it hadn't been for some close quizzing from Jaheira, and Minsc's ensuing burst of outrage, Harrian would most likely have found himself tricked into killing Dynaheir… an action which would have removed him of a valuable ally, and thus left the mage unable to save his life a few hundred times.

That was a mere example. A simple display of how much he needed his companions. Suspicious Jaheira, who stopped him from being overly trusting, taking everything with a pinch of salt; mighty Minsc, the warrior of the group, dealing with matters that nimble fingers and swift movement could not handle; Khalid – Gods, he would miss the man – the one who showed him, ultimately, that you didn't need to be bold of outlook to be the most courageous man alive….

And Imoen. Much as he valued his companions, past and present, none of them could hold up a torch to his young friend. Well, he called her young… she was technically his elder! Chronologically, anyway. In the mind… most definitely his junior.

He knew this, he had seen from the moment she had appeared down the road from Candlekeep, right after he'd witnessed Gorion's death. Corias knew that she had a streak of innocence that he had never had, a naivety that had often outdone him when he had known little of the world, an attitude that everyone, by all rights, should have seen and taken advantage of to the maximum.

But they didn't. For some reason. Somehow, not even the most vile of creatures could bring themselves to do anything to sully her nature in any way, to bring a black cloud to her clear horizon.

Well, with a few exceptions. And Harrian had proven himself willing to lay down his life, even for something as mundane as his friend's innocence. He had shielded her from the harshness of the world, taking the full brunt of it on his own back as penance. He had protected her.

Until now. Until Irenicus. 

As a single cloud could be spotted creeping over the walls of Waukeen's Promenade, breaking him of his almost catatonic mood, Corias silently vowed that he would not rest until Imoen was safe, and Irenicus had paid for his actions.


	3. Social Disorder

Chapter 3: Social Disorder

A shadow fell over the leader, blocking the bright sun which, despite his mood and predicament, he had been enjoying. "Harrian! Say we will be going after Irenicus, and dealing the righteous butt-kicking he deserves!"

Minsc, without even waiting for a response, leant down and grabbed the thief by his leather armour and yanked him to his feet in a way they were all sure the ranger thought was gentle, yet was enough to jar their leader into full consciousness.

"We cannot let Dynaheir's murderer escape, not when he has taken little Imoen with him too!" the massive warrior continued, fairly shaking Corias briskly in his overly-earnest need for assurance.

The thief's eyes snapped open fully, no longer glazed over, and he clutched Minsc's arms in an attempt to balance himself. It was futile; like trying to rely on the ground for stability during an earthquake, and perhaps less steady.

Finally, the thief was able to prise Minsc's hands off him, and almost stumbled back to the floor as his knees buckled, hindered as he was by the sudden and deep fatigue that had set upon him. But the ranger had been hardly deterred, and supported his friend easily, seizing his shoulders in an iron grasp to stop him from sliding to the ground.

After a few seconds, Harrian pulled himself together enough for him to stand on his own two feet. "Don't worry, Minsc," he muttered. "We'll get Irenicus." The declaration visibly perked up not just his giant friend, but himself, and he straightened up proudly. "Irenicus will learn that whoever crosses us, regrets it. Whoever takes our loved ones from us, regrets it. And this shall be no exception."

The words were spoken with a conviction he forced upon himself, so they rang a little hollow, even to his own ears. But Minsc's suddenly hearty and delighted expression reassured him somewhat. Lying, if it brought back faith to the others, was a perfectly acceptable thing to do, he reasoned.

"Bold words," Yoshimo spoke from beside Jaheira, not averting his gaze from the rubble below them. His tone was not condescending, but merely that of someone offering a comment. "Where do we go from here?"

Jaheira saw some panic in her friend's eyes, enhancing her suspicion that he was more shaken up by the whole situation than she had first suspected. Though he had put on a strong face in the dungeon – most likely for Imoen's benefit – it didn't take a master to read how deeply the whole experience had affected him.

She could also see that Corias had no idea how to proceed. He was giving them another bold outlook, a brave front, because he knew that there was nothing more demoralising than a panicking leader, but he was holding onto that mask with by a very thin thread. Best to put little stress on him.

"To an inn," she said firmly, in that instant deciding to take control of the party during their leader's temporary lack of presence of mind. At least, she hoped it was temporary. Either way, she was the wisest person to lead the group during Harrian's… 'episode', for she didn't trust Yoshimo, and Minsc was far too unbalanced for such a responsibility.

Harrian, damn him, was well enough to throw her a look of betrayed indignation as she took charge for a moment. In any other circumstances she'd have given him a verbal kick and told him to get a more mature view of the group's leadership, but here realised that it would be a destructive decision.

"We need rest and can decide how to proceed tomorrow," Jaheira added. Anybody else would have rushed the words so as to smooth ruffled feathers faster… but the druid rushed for nobody. Definitely not in matters as inconsequential as these.

Yoshimo nodded, seeing the way the wind was blowing. "I agree," he stated coolly, offering the impression of a democratic decision at work to ease Corias's mind. A split in the party could be a disastrous thing for all people, all agendas.

The other thief nodded firmly as his eyes covered his three comrades. "Then yes, we should find an inn," he declared, as if they were merely concurring with his own decision and he'd never lost an ounce of control, of either the group or his mind. As he set off away from the rubble, head high, not even checking to see if they were following him, Jaheira rolled her eyes.

The confirmation that they were in Athkatla had not flown over Harrian's head, and he enjoyed the unusually warm – for a man of the north – sun on his face. For a second, he began to feel alive again, human again, out of that dark, stifling dungeon. Stumbling on a bit of rubble, however, brought crashing back the memory of Irenicus, and Imoen.

He pushed it out of his head for a moment, and looked at the sign of the tavern he had reached. The Mithrest Inn. A glance inside confirmed a clean-looking, brightly decorated establishment. Perfect.

Yoshimo's eyes widened as Corias entered one of the most up-market inns in _Amn_ wearing scruffy dark clothing – _very_ scruffy dark clothing – battered leather armour, and smelling as if he had just spent three days trapped in a cage in a filth-ridden dungeon.

Harrian pushed the door open, glancing brightly at his friends and gesturing that they enter with him. He stepped into the slightly gloomy room as Minsc caught the door behind him, and blinked, adjusting his eyes to the darker interior.

The quiet hum of conversation came to an abrupt halt as he entered, and Harrian realised his mistake as he narrowed his eyes, spotting the fancy attire of all of the patrons, and coming to the conclusion that he had picked a slightly too refined establishment in his haste.

He was about to discreetly leave and find a slightly more rough and tumble tavern, when he caught the eye of one of the nobles at the bar, giving him an arrogant and very disdainful glare. A clear message that he didn't want riffraff like the four adventurers in here. And there was a touch of triumph in his eyes as he saw Harrian was about to go.

The swashbuckler came to an abrupt halt. Who was this nob to tell him where he could and couldn't have a drink? There was no law stopping him from going in (and, as a thief, it probably wouldn't have stopped him anyway). The only thing disallowing him from getting a room here was the social structure.

Harrian put on an arrogant swagger, considered straightening his clothes, then decided against it and ruffled them. He strolled forwards towards the bar. Minsc, behind him, seemed to be watching the proceedings with curiosity, Jaheira with indifference, and Yoshimo with well-concealed trepidation.

He stepped up to the counter, brushing shoulders with the man at the bar roughly, and sticking his elbows on the surface. He knew that aggravated these people. He was in no mood to be pushed around by these people. In a burst of uncharacteristic vindictiveness, he secretively picked a few gold coins from the noble's purse, and slid them across the bar towards the well-tailored innkeeper.

"Bartender, if you would happen to have a free room or four tonight which myself and my compatriots could make use of, I would be more grateful," Corias declared smoothly, meeting the portly owner's eyes.

The other man looked at him with barely controlled disgust, though his gaze lit up a little as he saw the coins the thief was proffering. Still, this was a high class establishment, and they didn't come much less high class than the party of four he was presented with here. "I suggest you try the Dale next door, _sir_."

There was an edge to the 'sir' that made the bouncers take notice. Yoshimo tightened his grip on his katana as his three companions looked on, oblivious. Well, Minsc was oblivious. Jaheira plainly didn't care, and Harrian…

Well, their leader was revelling in it. The bounty hunter's deadpan expression became more grim, and he hoped their dramatic entry to the city wouldn't then be followed up by a dramatic brawl in an expensive establishment.

"No, I believe I may be fine here," the swashbuckler was saying, somehow managing to swagger in his _speech_, a feat that impressed Yoshimo no end. It sounded like an amazingly fast route to the prisons.

The nobleman next to him snorted quietly yet derisively, and Harrian turned to face him, eyebrow arched with a face that was doubtless supposed to be imposing but definitely failed to intimidate the other man. "Come now, come now… the man is being reasonable. The lodgings here are far too fine for a rabble such as yourselves to indulge in. Why, the price of breakfast alone is, I'm sure, far beyond your purse."

Harrian Corias didn't answer at first, merely looked at the three gold coins he had stolen from the noble, before reaching into the purse (kept, Yoshimo noted, in a pocket on the inside of his black jerkin, not on the belt) and emerging, only the hint of a triumphant smile on his face, with a fistful of yet more gold coins, which he placed in the bartender's stubby fingers.


	4. Moonlight Discussion

Chapter 4: Moonlight Discussion

Yoshimo breathed a sigh of relief as he descended the stairs to enter the main bar of the Mithrest Inn. As he had suspected – or rather, desperately hoped – it was mercifully clear of nobles to gain distastefully upon him.

Not that he cared one jot for their opinions. He just knew that such an open clash of social standings could have disastrous effects. The damage dealt would be as if it had been dealt with a war hammer, and Yoshimo was a stiletto man.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he had done to fall in with this group of madmen. And a druid. It was night time, and slumber did not come easily to one under a powerful geas which forced an honourable man to break his word.

For Yoshimo _was_ an honourable man. He was a Kara-Turan, part of a society _built_ on honour, and to be forced into a deal such as the one he was now in with Irenicus did not bode well for him. He had no idea as to how he would proceed, how he would deal with this situation – if he would abandon his honour to live, or stand by his word and die.

A voice from one of the large chairs behind him saved the bounty hunter from having to answer the question in his head, and he whirled around to see Jaheira lounged in a seat, a steaming cup of something in her hand.

'Lounged' was, actually, quite an incorrect word to use. It seemed to suggest that she was at ease, and relaxed. Whilst she might physically be, the slight fidgeting, furrow of her brow and almost frantic drinking of the hot mixture in her cup displayed the lack of such a mental peace.

Finally, he was jerked from his reverie as he realised she had asked him a question. He shook his head to clear it, and gazed openly at her. "I'm sorry?" he asked quietly and a little sheepishly.

"I said that you seem a little lost," Jaheira repeated patiently, gingerly sipping the herbal tea she'd acquired from the bar. One bonus of residing in this expensive establishment meant that it was possible to get a hot drink late at night without being disturbed – the heavy drinking had stopped hours earlier.

"It is hard to sleep," Yoshimo replied warily, edging towards the chair opposite her, then sitting primly on it as she pushed it back towards him with her foot. The wooden leg scraped on the tiled floor with a loud groan that broke the restful silence of the room, and the bartender cocked an eyebrow at them, a vague expression of irritation on his face.

Jaheira took the thief's unhappiness as reluctance to admit how the recent situation had affected him. "That is why I ordered tea. It is quite soothing. Besides, if we are to stay at this luxurious establishment, we might as well take advantage of it." Twenty-four hours ago she might have smiled as she spoke, he realised with a jolt.

"Harrian and Minsc seem to be saved from our inhibitions," Yoshimo observed, declining the cup she offered him. He would not sleep; of that he was certain, and thus drinking vile substances would serve no purpose.

"Minsc could sleep through a thunderstorm, and has done so before," the druid assured him. "It is his way of dealing with loss. And as for Harrian…" Her voice trailed off, and the bounty hunter noted a crease of concern on her forehead.

"You do not believe he sleeps?" Yoshimo prompted cautiously.

She shook her head. "Harrian is not one to slumber during difficult times. Imoen meant – _means_ – a lot to him. He shall not take her kidnapping lightly."

"The days ahead have the potential to be hard, verily," Yoshimo mused, leaning back in his chair.

"You are under no obligation to travel and fight with us," Jaheira reminded him, not unkindly. "I am sure Harrian would welcome your talents full-time, however, if you wished to stay," she added quickly.

The Kara-Turan pretended to consider this for a moment. "If your leader will have me, I shall follow. I am also curious about Irenicus," he lied. There was a long pause for a moment. "Why is Harrian your leader?" he asked at length, curiosity on his face. "I mean… you are older and more travelled; Minsc is physically superior, if, from what I have seen, not entirely sound in the head. Why do you follow a thief such as he?"

Jaheira contemplated this for a moment, already knowing most of the answer in her head, but unsure of how much to divulge to Yoshimo. He was their new ally, she knew, but she did not fully trust him; neither did she wish to tell him secrets that were not hers to tell. "Harrian is a born leader," she declared at last. "He may not be the fighter Minsc is, and I may be more experienced an adventurer, but that is not all that is needed to lead, especially a party like ours." She sighed. "He can be as stubborn as an ox on occasions, and mind-numbingly naïve when it comes to trusting people, but at the end of the day, he's intelligent, and a sound leader."

Yoshimo resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at her and throw her a very querying glance. "That is why you follow him," he repeated slowly.

She nodded stiffly. "That is why I follow him."


	5. Rallying the Troops

Chapter 5: Rallying the Troops

The next morning, Jaheira eyed the stairs leading from the Mithrest Inn's rooms to the tavern section of the inn with intense trepidation. She was certain that sleep would restore some of their leader's usual vitality and energy, but how much she was eager to see.

Beside her sat Minsc, indifferently feeding Boo crackers. The rodent would nibble at some crumbs, look as smug as was possible for a hamster, then eye Yoshimo with an air of something bordering on wariness.

The bounty hunter was, externally, more at ease than he had been the previous evening, yet his inner turmoil had not been appeased. Talking with Jaheira had merely confirmed his suspicions on how hard it would be to betray these people.

"Boo wonders what is taking Harrian so long to awake on this fine day," Minsc declared suddenly. Jaheira looked on sceptically. To her, it seemed as if Boo was wondering how many crackers he could eat before getting too fat to fit in the pouch on the ranger's back, and certainly didn't care about their leader's internal clock.

"He has earned a rest," Yoshimo interned gravely, saving Jaheira the trouble of pointing this out to the masses.

"I am sure that, once he has slept soundly, he shall be invigorated and ready to lead us onwards. There is much for us to do," Jaheira concurred, though there was a touch of doubt and suspicion in her voice.

"Good morrow friends! I trust you have all rested well?" a familiar voice boomed from behind them as Harrian descended from a staircase different to the one the druid had been stubbornly watching.

In response, the swashbuckler won Minsc's curious glance, Yoshimo's surprised look, and Jaheira's slightly venomous glare. Nobody answered him. "Well?" he asked, far more quietly, pulling up a chair next to the druid with a slightly sheepish expression on his face.

"You are more… animated than we had anticipated," Yoshimo told him cautiously.

"Harrian is back in full butt-kicking form!" Minsc said to the bounty hunter loudly. "Minsc and Boo shall join the hero in mopping the floor with evil's buttocks this day as we strive to find little Imoen!"

Their leader smiled, albeit a little wanly. "You said it Minsc," he concurred, though Jaheira noted he spoke with less aplomb than was usual for him. At her questioning glance, his face became more serious. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," he told her quietly. "Moping won't get us far. It shall take action to rescue Imoen from the Cowled Wizards."

"Granted, though I am unsure was to _what_ action will get us to our goal," the druid confessed. "We shall need more information before we can safely make any further decisions."

"True, and that shall come," Corias assured her, though a little dismissively. "But first, we must strengthen ourselves. We have need of a skilled spellcaster – now that Imoen's gone." There was a trace of sadness in his voice.

"Any mage of ours will go the same way as your friend, without a license," Yoshimo protested instantly.

Harrian managed to dilute the withering look he threw the bounty hunter before speaking. "Then we will get a license," he pointed out impatiently.

"It is not a simple case of applying and then having one given to you," Yoshimo insisted, with a little exasperation. "The wizards are very selective… it usually takes a gold contribution before they even consider it."

The swashbuckler rolled his eyes. "This is the City of Coin. I shouldn't be surprised," he muttered, more to himself than anybody else. "Alright, we'll work on that," he conceded at last. "But there's a second thing we'll need –"

He stopped as a shadow fell over the table, and looked up to see the portly bartender's form blocking the stream of sunlight from the window. "Here's your bill," Pugney muttered gruffly, stubby hands pushing paper across the table towards them.

Corias looked blankly at them. "This was settled last night!" he declared indignantly, as he finally read the paper. "You're charging me that much for tea?" the thief continued, a slight note of panic in his voice. "We don't _have_ that much!"

He spoke a little too loud, however, and caught the nobleman whose purse he had picked the evening before, who was sitting up by the bar and snickering a little. Corias's eyes narrowed, and the streak of pride and stubbornness that had got him into much trouble before raised its ugly head. He smiled belligerently at Pugney, and the bartender raised an eyebrow, a slight look of worry in his eyes…

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_Chapter 5... finished. Next, the party get out of a sticky situation, attempt to gather themselves and set about a plan of action, in the course of which encountering someone who could either be a valuable ally or irritating foe..._


	6. The Faithful

Chapter 6: The Faithful

"Was that really necessary?" Jaheira demanded as the four of them strode _very_ quickly away from the inn, taking care not to run. "The situation could have been resolved in a different way. The man was just doing his job – you did not need to intimidate him like that."

"He was left unharmed," Harrian assured her, then threw a cautious glance over his shoulder and came to a halt, silently enjoying the brightness and warmth of the sun. Waukeen's Promenade offered a pleasant environment for as fine a day as this, and he thoroughly enjoyed a market, especially in good weather. It almost made him forget his troubles.

"Your dagger seemed to be threatening his organs unnecessarily," Yoshimo pointed out, suddenly bringing him back to reality. "Fear may have saved us from the payment we couldn't give, but it could bring the guards upon us, and we don't need that."

Corias paused a moment, pursing his lips. "Good. It will help me with the second thing we need to deal with. Somebody who knows the city." He sagged as Yoshimo looked veritably dismayed, then made a supreme effort to hide it. "Don't worry, Yoshimo," he hastily added, "you have links to the underworld we shall find useful. However, a legal link would be helpful."

"You are a thief!" the bounty hunter reminded him incredulously. "The law is not a consideration. Or shouldn't be," he amended sulkily, aware that he was not fully informed of the situation and the working of his new party leader were not entirely in his knowledge.

"A complete lack of regard for the legal system could land us in more trouble than we need." Harrian shook his head. "Besides, I'm not _that_ kind of thief. We could do with somebody who has links." This was what he did in these situations. He'd look at the scenario objectively, work out what had to be done, how they'd do it, and what they would need to go through with it.

"Boo says we should find a different inn to stay at," Minsc rumbled, uttering his first – and maybe only – words of wisdom of the day.

"Agreed. We also need money." Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "What do we have to sell until we can find some paying work?" she added.

Corias smiled broadly. "Some gemstones, and…" He paused, possibly for dramatic effect, then pulled a bright blue jewel from the purse in his inside pocket under his armour. "…this," he declared with a flourish. "Imoen identified it was the pommel jewel of the Equaliser. It should fetch a pretty nice price at any store worth its salt."

* *

The Adventure Mart was gloomy, yet offered blissful relief from the heat of the outside. A warmer day had not been seen in Athkatla for many days, and Anomen Delryn, squire of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart and warrior-priest of Helm, was only glad he had not had to wear his armour that day.

He had only just returned from the Order's campaign against the Hillgnasher Giants up north. As great as that had been – both as a victory for the order and his own personal achievements – it had been costly, in life and material. He had his life, so that was not a big concern for him, but his armour had been split right down the middle from a giant's hammer in a momentary lack of concentration.

Fortunately, in reflection of his performance on the field battle, Sir Ryan Trawl had insisted on funding him for a new suit of armour, a costly investment that he, a simple squire with no support from his family, would have found impossible to deal with by himself. Which was why he was here this morning, feeling quite naked and free in simple clothing without the weight of metal on his back, seeing what that rogue Ribald Barterman had to offer him by way of armour.

"Splint mail," the half-elf was saying as Anomen tuned back into the conversation. "Much like the last suit you were wearing, Squire Delryn, but of far finer craftsmanship. Forged by Cromwell the dwarf no less. It's not enchanted, but is of very sturdy metal and will serve you well. Decent price too – all I'm asking is one hundred and forty nine gold pieces," the shop owner finished triumphantly.

Anomen nodded, a slightly imperious look on his face. "Interesting, yes, but Sir Ryan Trawl really did suggest that I investigate plate mail – far more befitting of a squire of the Radiant Heart, yes?"

"Indeed, but it'll definitely cost you a pretty penny. Still, if the Order's paying for it…" Barterman sighed, but was smiling inside. He knew Delryn – had sold him the mace that hung on his belt – and knew that if he could get the finest, he would take the finest, and that meant a good sale for the Mart.

The shop's door swung open suddenly and noisily, and bright sunlight spilled through to chase away the shadows of the gloomy interior. Anomen narrowed his eyes against the glare; he had only just grown accustomed to the darkness of the Adventure Mart, and the brightness was blinding.

Fortunately, the sun was blocked by a massive figure filling the doorway, silhouetted against the light. The squire squinted at him in the half-light, trying to make out features of this new arrival as he stepped fully inside, three considerably smaller companions trailing behind him casually.

As he had already noticed, the man was huge – almost seven foot tall, easily; completely bald, and with some ritualistic-looking tattoos on his forehead. The armour he wore, similar in make and condition to Anomen's last suit, and the massive two-handed sword strapped to his back showed plainly that he was a warrior.

He inspected some shelves intently, a look of supreme concentration on his face, and Delryn tried to hide his surprise as a small brown and white hamster poked its head from out of a pouch strapped to the man's back. The rodent scurried up the armour and perched on the warrior's shoulder, and from his stance and the movement of his lips, the man seemed to be talking to the small furry creature. Anomen decided firmly that it was a trick of the darkness.

One of his companions stepped up to the giant, who was staring at potions as if he knew what he was doing, and seemed to be gently coercing him into moving towards the counter. This man was far smaller; average height and build, dark hair, goatee… nothing to make him stand out. The slight prowl of his walk and tense, fight-or-flee stance suggested that he was one of the thieves that misguided adventuring parties were so keen on bringing along with them. He despaired of mankind sometimes.

By Helm; there were two of them! The third one, hooded but with distinct Kara-Turan features, was watching the shop quietly. His cool gaze met Anomen's, and the squire turned away abruptly, bringing his analysis of the group to an end. He looked blankly at Ribald Barterman, knowing the half-elf had asked him a question but had clearly no idea what it was.

"Excuse me?" he asked at last, blinking so as to accustom his eyes to the darkness once more and grinning almost apologetically. He wanted a good deal with this armour, and insulting Barterman wouldn't get him far.

The half-elf smiled indulgently. Good; he'd embarrassed the squire to the point where he could make it an easy sail, shame the man into buying rather than admitting he hadn't listened. It was a low tactic, but times were hard. "I asked if you'd be buying it, Squire Delryn," he said, open and innocent on the outside.

Anomen's eyes roamed quickly around him. The plate mail Barterman had brought up was nowhere in sight. But for that matter, neither was anything else. Damn that man, all the way to the Nine Hells! This was no way to treat an almost-member of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart!

Help came from unexpected, and quite unwanted territory, as the thief from the party he had watched – the first one, the one who had directed his warrior friend – headed in their direction. "Mr Barterman," he started, completely ignoring Anomen. "I was wondering if you had –"

He was cut off, mercifully by Ribald, for Delryn – not very keen on being interrupted as he was – would have intervened far less politely than the shopkeeper did. The half-elf was looking over the thief's shoulder at the fourth party member, a woman this time, tapping a staff impatiently on the floor.

"Miss Jaheira!" he exclaimed, though there was a guarded look to him as he greeted her which was not missed by the surprised Anomen and the similarly surprised thief. "I trust all is well?" he stammered at last.

"Not really," the woman replied wryly. "But that is your concern. We are merely here to sell some trinkets, stock up on gear, and then move on. You do not need to worry yourself about my wellbeing." There was a cool look that passed between the two of them, leaving Delryn quite confused.

"Right you are, miss," Barterman answered, suddenly all polite and light. He turned to face the thief, to Anomen's chagrin. "We have the widest range of goods from here to Baldur's Gate. You won't find finer craftsmanship than here. What can I do for you, Mr…?"

Delryn didn't care to the point of finding out the man's name. He had been being served, and, damn it, he was going to _get_ served. "Excuse me, I believe _I_ was next in line for service," he butted in coolly, directing at the thief more than Barterman.

The man looked right back at him, and it was then he noticed the depth of his eyes, the warmth in them but at the same time the pain controlled within. It set the squire back a moment, but not long enough to be taken out of the running in the discussion. "What are you buying?" he asked quietly.

Anomen huffed a little. "Not that it's any of your _business_, but a suit of armour," he responded, eyes narrowed as he regarded the other.

The thief nodded contemplatively. "I see. That can be a lengthy business," he answered, his voice still irritatingly quite and calculating. His brow was furrowed slightly, as if he was doing calculations inside his head. "This will only take a minute. Can't you wait?"

Delryn might have conceded to the point and agreed to wait a little, if he hadn't been interrupted and the man had shown no modicum of courtesy throughout the exchange. "I'd rather not. It will _not_ take all day and I am needed back at the headquarters of the Radiant Heart by noon," he continued.

That had an effect, although not the desired one. The thief looked oddly at him, but there was a hint of pleased surprise and a little respect thrown in. The squire felt himself appeased a little. "You're a knight of the Radiant Heart?" he asked pleasantly.

"A squire; I hope to pass my test soon," Anomen said levelly, eyes still narrowed in suspicion. "But what this has to with this shopping expedition, I have no idea," he mumbled. Unnoticed to them both, Barterman had moved off, and seemed to be dealing with the woman he had called Jaheira.

"Up to anything good lately?" the thief asked, in a painfully common tongue, a northern accent breaking through, until he cleared his throat before continuing. "I mean, are there any quests or duties that the Order is having you do, or is it as it usually is – you are left to your own devices to find quests that shall find you worthy of knighthood?"

"What do you know of the Order?" Delryn asked quietly, even more suspicious than ever.

"I ran into a squire also awaiting his test up north some months ago. We dispatched some bandits together; it was a short alliance but I learnt a lot about the Radiant Heart and, if Ajantis was the standard for you squires, I know you are very valuable men, in combat and out." The thief flashed him a smile.

Anomen didn't know if he was being buttered up or not; the thief seemed quite genuine in his sentiment, but the words were not one he expected a criminal to speak. Most thieves would curse the Radiant Heart and then flee at the first sign of it; not welcome it with outstretched hands and talk of a former alliance.

"Is there a point to this, Mr…?"

"Corias. Harrian Corias," the man said at last, extending his hand. Anomen shook it warily, but he could feel his defences starting to slide down in the face of this unexpectedly open friendliness. "And yes, there is a point. Me and my friends are embarking on quite a dangerous quest, and, as you can see, our numbers are small. We could have need for a paladin of your skills."

Delryn shook his head, the momentary surge of elation fading. He thought he was a paladin! Helm was often cruel to him. "I'm sorry, Mr Corias, but I am no paladin. My name is Anomen Delryn, and I am a warrior-priest of Helm. I am a squire for the Order, yes, but if you seek a paladin, I am sure the Order itself is full of squires eager for quests."

"A warrior priest? Sounds even more useful. Jaheira here's a druid, but you can't have too many healers, I say." Harrian chuckled. He had been quite nervous about attempting to recruit this man on the spot, and it was starting to filter through. He didn't want to know what the aforementioned Jaheira would have to say about this.

"What is the quest?" Anomen asked at length, already knowing he would accept it, whatever it was. To the Nine Hells with this man being a thief; he had shown respect for the Order and was embarking on a dangerous quest, the type Delryn had been looking for. If he was corrupt, then… who better to steer him onto the path of righteousness than himself?

"I'm rescuing an old friend from the Cowled Wizards. They imprisoned her, and a mage called Irenicus from whom I want answers and some of my comrades want vengeance," Corias replied briefly, shrugging. "If you join us, it'll also mean we can get served here in one go," the thief said cheerfully.

Anomen was not completely sold to the party itself – two thieves and a hamster-carrying warrior, by Torm! – but the quest sounded like just what he needed to prove himself to Sir Ryan Trawl. He extended a hand towards the thief once again. "My services are at your disposal in fighting for righteousness, Mr Corias."

He shook his hand. "It's Harrian. You're the squire; you're the one I should be all respectful to, Squire Delryn. And if you _were_ worried, we are a force for righteousness. This mage is… quite evil"

"If this is an adventuring party, then there should be no need to stand on ceremony. You shall call me Anomen, and I shall call you Harrian. Formality is such a turgid thing between allies, is it not?" the squire asked, as the thief steered him towards where the druid was dealing with Barterman.

"I agree, Anomen," Corias replied implicitly. He seemed a bit arrogant, but he was Radiant Heart – Ajantis had been occasionally unbearable in his overly-pious mood, but had been a valuable ally nevertheless. He had a good feeling about this fellow. "Now, let us go buy you some armour, and us sell some trinkets."


	7. Unbeaten Paths

Chapter 7: Unbeaten Paths

****Back in the warm sunlight, Anomen was idly wondering just how he'd explain to Sir Ryan Trawl that, after taking the knight's money and replacing his beaten armour, he would be setting off with an adventuring party to combat evil on what could not be described as more than a whim. Squires were allowed to do so – nay, _expected_ to take up such quests to prove their worthiness – but Anomen _had_ been pencilled in for the next jousting tournament, and so Sir Ryan would have to find somebody to replace him. It was a minor issue, but Anomen did feel as if he had a responsibility to stay with the Order if they needed him.

Besides, he enjoyed the jousts – any open chance to strive for superiority in the face of his superiors and his gods was most welcome. He'd proven himself the last time around. He hadn't won, but had done well. Politics did not usually come into play in the Order, but being known as a successful participant in the jousts could hold him in good stead throughout the test, might make the prelate more inclined in his favour.

He wasn't even certain what he was doing with these adventurers. Their quest seemed like a worthy one, one befitting a knight of the Order – rescuing a kidnapped friend, defeating an evil mage – and they had shown no signs of evil, but they were an… odd lot, and he was not quite sure of their place within the realm.

Harrian, the thief working for good – by Helm, he'd only known him a few minutes and the man already did his head in – was a criminal and enemy of society, but plainly something… else by nature. There were depths to him that Anomen could not fathom; some secret level that he could not perceive, and so he was forced to merely have faith in the gods that he was not being lead down a dark path.

The massive warrior Minsc initially appeared to be the most stereotypical adventurer, clearly not a force of evil, and with skill and strength of benefit to any party. What had thrown Anomen initially was that damned hamster, which he had placed as simply a bizarre pet. After brief conversation with Minsc, however, he had no idea what the ranger's mental state was. Not something he wanted to comprehend, he knew that much.

The druid was by far the most normal of the group. Sarcastic and more than a little suspicious in the short conversation they'd had, she seemed the experienced fighter and adventurer, and clearly the voice of reason within the party. The only thing that betrayed her relatively normal exterior was the overly-controlled tone of her voice, and the pain in her eyes. It was a pain Anomen recognised, having seen it in his mothers' eyes for many years before her death. He would have to ask one of the others of this situation the first chance he got.

Then there was the second thief, Yoshimo the Kara-Turan. Anomen's suspicions of the rest were mostly out of self-preservation, a guard until he knew the true depths of his new companions, but he had little regard or trust for the bounty hunter right now, and doubted he ever would. There was a shiftiness to his actions that Delryn would have put down to his being a thief if Harrian (although plainly not being the stereotype) had shown no signs of it, and he was clearly not quite suited to the rest of the party. Anomen guessed that he was an alliance of convenience and situation, rather than similar goals.

Up ahead, Harrian side-stepped from out of the shade the walls around the Promenade offered to walk once more in the bright sunlight he was relishing. The warmth and light made him feel better; made him almost forget the troubles, and any chance of that was one worth taking. Baldur's Gate had never been this pleasant in climate.

Normally, he would not let himself become this absorbed in the sun, but he was feeling relaxed after a good night's rest and finally with some coin in his pocket. His quest was not forgotten, the purpose for his being there still in his mind, but… pushed aside for the moment.

Considering just what the situation _was_, it was a potentially dangerous stance to take, but mercifully the slight lapse in awareness was taken advantage of only by Jaheira as she stepped quietly up beside him. He jerked out of his reverie as he spotted her in the corner of his eye, and flashed her a hopeful yet sheepish smile. "Oh! Uh… yes?"

She raised an eyebrow as they fell into step, leaving the other three trailing behind a few metres. "You seemed lost to the world," she commented dryly, not looking at him, keeping her eyes on all that was around her. Her awareness was countering his own daydreaming.

"I was thinking," he murmured, not defensively, his brow furrowed a little. "Taking advantage of the moment to mull things over."

"You looked like you were taking advantage of the moment to bask in the sun," Jaheira replied, and they finally looked at each other, both wearing slightly wry smiles. "Your mind was clearly elsewhere – far away from here."

"I was trying not to dwell. The occasions are few and far between when I can actually focus on other things, permit myself to think of other matters, other times… so I take advantage of them where I can." He raised his face to the sun once more. "The weather down here is beautiful, isn't it?"

She ignored his comment about the climate. "It can be good sometimes to take yourself away from the matters; to step out of yourself, so to speak. But do not do it to the extent where you forget where you are or what you are doing," Jaheira warned him.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," Harrian replied, this time getting defensive. "I'm not just going to forget it, just it's useful to sometimes… step out of myself, like you said. My plans are formed, I know what I'm doing," he repeated.

"Like when you recruited the cleric without consulting any of us on this important matter?" Jaheira retorted. She did not know yet where to place Anomen, and was not instinctively adverse to his being there, but she wished Harrian had not brought him into the party on what had been very much a spur of the moment.

"So now I have to consult you on every thing I do?" the thief responded, narrowing his eyes, smelling how adversarial this was getting but having passed the point of caring. Fed and rested as they may have been, their inner tensions were still taut without any kind of confrontation with each other.

"You know what you can be like when it comes to trusting people. You were ready to swear an oath to _Edwin_ after talking to him for a few minutes," Jaheira pointed out, her voice level and with no trace of emotion.

It was then she got dangerous; Harrian knew to take a step back. "You have a point," he conceded. "But I wouldn't worry about Anomen. He's a priest and a squire of the Radiant Heart. Besides…" He glanced over his shoulder at the other three. "He seems to have passed the Boo test."

Jaheira's gaze followed him just in time to see Minsc thrust the hamster at the party's newest addition, and could not help but smile at the squire's expression. She sobered a little as she faced Harrian once again, however. "That may be a recommendation that works in the past, and I agree that, considering his position, he does not seem to be a threat… but remain careful in the future."

"Me? I'm always careful," Harrian declared firmly, flashing her a grin and turning away to step out of Waukeen's Promenade before he could spot her rolling her eyes at him.


	8. Shadowy Deals

Chapter 8: Shadowy Deals

They had only just entered the Slums district, on Anomen's advice that they go to the Copper Coronet for lodgings and maybe some work. The Mithrest was no place for people like them or employers they would need, and whilst Harrian had standards beyond a rat-infested inn like most of those Athkatla boasted, they wanted something a little bit more downmarket. Both Anomen and Yoshimo had assured him the Coronet would suit the party.

Harrian had finally realised that the heat would stay there forever and his slight preoccupation with the weather was, at best, eccentric. He had started to take in more of the sights, become more aware of his surroundings, watching the people as they moved, evaluating their places in the city and situation.

He had clearly not been as attentive as he had thought, because it was Yoshimo who stepped up behind him and commented, his body language and tone of his voice was if he was talking about the weather, that they had a tail.

Corias nodded, and resisted the urge to look around. After trailing plenty of people himself, he knew exactly what would throw their shadow off course. "How far back?" he asked at last. He didn't want to get rid of whoever it was; he wanted to find out who they were and why they were following him.

"Ten metres. Apparently shopping for… silks," the bounty hunter said, the slightly amused tone of his voice back. "How do you wish for us to proceed?" he continued in the first real deference to Harrian's position as leader.

"See if you can cut down a side alleyway and get behind him without him noticing," Corias responded, his voice casual and light, smiling as he spoke. "If he runs, he'll have to run right into you. I want to find out just what this fellow seeks."

"Very well." Yoshimo nodded curtly, then mumbled something that sounded distinctly like "Hiii-ya," under his breath. When Harrian turned to face him, idly wondering if he was being mocked by the bounty hunter, he had already disappeared. Corias smiled happily at his choice of plan.

He lack of attentiveness was proven once more when he turned to see Anomen standing right next to him, and forced himself not to jump. The cleric's expression was one of idle curiosity, but he wore a knowing smile. "Our Kara-Turan is off to catch our tail, no?" It wasn't much of a question.

"Did everybody detect him apart from myself?" Harrian asked sheepishly, one eyebrow raised, realising he'd have to get his act together to survive in this city, let alone on this dangerous quest of his.

Anomen shook his head. "Ranger Minsc declared that, ah, _Boo_ detected the man's presence. He was just about to inform you when Yoshimo disappeared. What is our course of action?"

Harrian came to a stop, the other three around him also halting, now all fully aware of the situation. "Now we do this," he mumbled, grabbing Delryn's arm and pulling him around as he marched directly at their tail.

He saw a man start, then turn around and stride quickly in the other direction, head low. The time for subtlety was over; the party broke into a run. Their tail was about to do the same just as Yoshimo emerged from an alleyway right in front of him, and the stalker collided heavily with the Kara-Turan bounty hunter.

They both fell to the floor, the tracker having not expected to find someone suddenly in front of him, Yoshimo having not expected to be literally run into, but before the tail could get to his feet, he found a rather vicious-looking long sword pointed at his throat.

"Who are you, and why are you following us?" Harrian asked, his voice low and threatening as Minsc stepped up beside him, blocking out the sun for added effect. It rather diminished Corias's intimidation rating, but with the massive ranger next to him that didn't matter too much.

The man raised his hands and slowly stood, the sword not wavering from his throat. "You be the one I'm looking for, if I'm not mistaken. Corias be your name, is it not?" he asked, his voice surprisingly bright for someone literally an inch away from being skewered by his neck.

"You are not the one asking the questions, dog," Anomen interjected, idly swinging his hefty mace back and forth. "I suggest you answer before we make things _very_ unpleasant for you."

"Your point be well made," the tail conceded. "My name is Gaelan Bayle… I wasn't trailing you, as such, merely taggin' along until you reached somewhere a little less conspicuous where we could talk."

Yoshimo leant over towards Harrian. "Bayle… I know this man, Harrian. A man of his word, for what it's worth in this city. He wouldn't talk to us unless he had something of value to say. It may be advisable to hear him out."

Corias nodded. "Fine. Whatever you have to say, say it quickly," he declared levelly to Bayle, lowering the sword somewhat, but only because a few of the guards had started to look in their direction. He doubted that Bayle would attempt to take them on, outnumbered heavily as he was.

"Coo!" Gaelan straightened his ruffled clothes, and smiled in a way he hoped was winning. "You were involved in that incident on the Promenade yesterday, word has it. The friend of yours, yon lass Imoen kidnapped by the Cowled Wizards, I also heard."

Harrian's face showed no trace of the immense surprise he felt. "That still doesn't explain why you're here. Tell me something I don't know."

"I know people who can find her for you." Bayle glanced around furtively. "But this isn't a safe place to talk. Come to my home and I'll explain all about it, explain what my friends can do and what it'll cost you."

To the immense surprise of the others, Corias smiled, and nodded. "That sounds good. Show us to your home."

Bayle's smile broadened with immense relief. "Coo! Come with me then," he declared, setting off down the road in a slightly loping run. He didn't get a metre before Harrian's hand fell upon his shoulder.

"Just one thing," the swashbuckler continued, his brow furrowed with honest concern. "Tell us who these friends of yours are before we take another step."

Gaelan sagged. "I… I can't be telling you that," he admitted unhappily. "Just stay happy in the knowledge that they can help you find your Imoen."

"Not good enough. Who are they?" Corias continued.

Bayle was weighing his options, the pros and cons of telling him, until Yoshimo interjected and removed him of the responsibility. "You work for the Shadow Thieves, do you not?" the bounty hunter commented levelly.

The hand resting on Bayle's shoulder became a grip that yanked him back, and he found himself looking at Harrian's furious face. "The Shadow Thieves? You expect me to work with the _Shadow Thieves_? Do you think I'm crazy or something?"

Yoshimo and Anomen exchanged confused glances, the former quite concerned, the latter simply relieved that his sudden fear at association with such an unsavoury group was unfounded. Jaheira and Minsc seemed to be unsurprised by the reaction, the druid almost sharing in it.

"They… they can help you!" Bayle stuttered, until he was roughly shoved away by Corias.

"To the Nine Hells with that!" he barked in reply, then took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. "I don't work for, or with the Shadow Thieves. Ever. Not even for Imoen. You're all a bunch of lying, manipulative bastards, and you'll probably cheat me before the deal is even made. We'll find Imoen and Irenicus by ourselves, _thank you_," he hissed, pushing Bayle once more. "Now go," he continued, his voice level and controlled once more.

Anomen smiled as Bayle ran like hell down the street. "I am pleased with your decision, Harrian. Association with a group as unsavoury and immoral as the Shadow Thieves would not sit well with me, and I am happy it has been averted."

Yoshimo, however, was frowning. "You may have reservations about them, but they _could_ help you. I have no doubt that they would set you on a fast-track to finding Imoen. This may have been a foolhardy decision."

"Foolhardy or not, I don't associate with the Shadow Thieves." Harrian frowned as Bayle disappeared. "Not after last time," he added cryptically. "But let us go; the Coronet awaits, and we need to decide just what we are going to do with ourselves."


	9. The Duel

Chapter 9: The Duel

_Nashkell Inn, Sword Coast_  
_Three years earlier…_

"If you're g-going to be travelling the realm, you're going to need to know how to f-fight," Khalid told Harrian, glancing critically around the bare room he had been able to acquire, evaluating its suitability for a fencing lesson.

"I avoid open confrontations. Stick to the shadows, hit 'em when they're least expecting it," Corias replied casually. He was perched on a box in the corner, displaying the same dismissive attitude towards Khalid he had all week, idly testing the point of his dagger.

The half-elf fighter sighed. Gorion's ward was proving to be a far bigger handful than he had expected, but Khalid and Jaheira had promised to watch over him, and by the Gods, Khalid did not go back on his promises. "Maybe, but you s-saw what happened yesterday afternoon. There weren't many shadows to h-hide in. All you could d-do was stay back and watch," Khalid finished.

"I dragged you from out of harm's way, didn't I?" Harrian asked haughtily. "You got your helmet knocked off and would have had your head split if I hadn't pulled you out of the way," he pointed out.

Khalid sighed again. Maybe he should have let Jaheira deal with Corias, like she had suggested. But no… it wouldn't be a training session, it would have been a lecture about the balance, which wasn't quite what he was trying to get across. He loved his wife dearly, but she was more druid than fighter.

To be inclined to learn how to fight with a sword to any appropriate degree, Harrian would really have to be impressed with the skills of his tutor. Khalid was good, he knew that. Despite his stutter and slightly jumpy outlook, he was a skilled swordsman and a fine warrior, but Harrian had seen no sign of it. Maybe he should have let Minsc do this session.

That thought gave him more determination to push on, and he picked up one of the wooden swords on the floor, tossing it towards the thief. It clattered noisily on the stone ground, and Corias looked at it as if it was a snake.

Khalid picked a second sword up, and stared at his friend's former ward's face. "Jaheira has all of the g-gold, and if you want to get anywhere, I suggest you p-pick it up and get willing to learn how to f-fight."

"Blackmail," Harrian muttered. It wasn't that he disliked Khalid, it was just that he didn't think the man could fight. He personally had no desire to learn how to sword fight; it wasn't his trade and other members of the party could do it.

"W-watch and learn," Khalid stuttered, the words losing their impact on his speech impediment.

Corias picked up the wooden sword, the expression on his face one the half-elven fighter had seen many times before: 'I'll show this bugger a lesson or two'. Khalid smiled inwardly. He could deal with that.

Harrian lunged sloppily at him, but Khalid side-stepped easily, bringing his sword up and giving it a quick flick that knocked it from the thief's hand, then swung his 'blade' around again to hit him on the rump. A short, sharp shock and a touch of embarrassment might work wonders here.

Corias yelped, jumping a foot in the air, then glowered at Khalid. The half-elf smiled. "Now, are you going to learn, or will I have to hit you again?" Gone was the stutter in the face of such a confrontation.

Harrian pouted a little, but ruefully picked up the wooden sword, the glower fading. "Alright," he muttered gruffly. "Let's get this over and done with."

* *

Copper Coronet  
Present Day

Harrian grimaced as the stench of overcooked meat and spilled beer hit his nostrils when he swung the door to the Copper Coronet open. He was looking forward to some lunch and a drink, but he did have some standards for what he ate. Burnt rat did not sit well on his stomach.

Still, the place was relatively clean; no worse than any other tavern he'd seen in his day, and from the throng of people he was sure they'd be able to find some work somewhere. Unsavoury characters galore, and unsavoury characters usually had unsavoury problems that they were willing to pay people like him to fix.

He grinned at the others, then nodded towards the bar, and they started forwards. As they passed a table, however, the man standing at it shifted out a little, and Corias's shoulder knocked into his.

Harrian ignored it and continued until a heavy hand fell on his arm and yanked him around to bring him face to face with one of the aforementioned unsavoury characters who was about half a foot taller than him and clearly very unhappy. "Watch what you're doing, _mate_," the man muttered dangerously.

Corias resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sorry," he said, as sincerely as he could muster. He really didn't have the time for this. "I'll be sure to be more careful in the future," he continued, this time unable to stop the sarcasm from slipping in his voice.

Another man shifted from foot to foot. "I think he's taking the piss, Amalas," he grunted uncertainly.

The thief sagged. "No, I'm not taking the piss," he answered wearily. "I just want to go and get a drink and some food, and I happened to run into you." He stared at the hand on his shoulder as if it was soiling him, before carefully removing it. "Good day to you, gentlemen," he declared haughtily, before turning on his heel.

Amalas laughed heartily. "Ooh, look at him, all fancy and kitted up. What do you think you are, boy, one of them adventurers?" He guffawed idiotically, and his two lackeys joined in moronically.

"Actually, I am. Now, bugger off," Harrian snapped, his patience wearing thin. He really didn't want to get into all of this.

"You?" Amalas queried derisively. "You don't look as if you could face a bloody cabbage, let alone the full evil of Amn."

"I've faced things considerably worse than yourself, I'll tell you that for nothing," Corias muttered.

His skin was leathery and pale, that of someone who hadn't seen the light for even longer than you; his clothing beaten and worn, and his eyes… dark and burning, stones set into a finely chiselled face that lit up as he laughed in delight at your pain during the experiments…

Harrian blinked, realising he'd missed Amalas's latest retort, but a warning hand on his arm told him that it was something that would have pissed him off. "I suggest we go," Jaheira murmured, looking at the trio with contempt. "They are not worth the effort."

Corias nodded firmly. "I agree," he said, turning around once more.

"That's it!" Amalas laughed. "Go running off, you sissy-boy. Too afraid to face a real man. Listen to your whore and stay our of our way next time!" His laughter was joined by that of his two lackeys, in an irritating guffaw.

Harrian came to a halt, not turning around until things became silent. Yoshimo swore under his breath in his native language as the thief slowly faced Amalas, his expression emotionless. "What did you call her?"

Amalas smiled belligerently. "Ooh, so there's some backbone there after all. Sounds like you'll be taking me up on that duel, then…?"

Jaheira sighed, placing her hand on her leader's arm once more. "Look, you really shouldn't –"

"Damn right I will," Harrian declared to them both.

* *

"It is always better to wait until they attack you, and then counter it," Khalid said, his voice growing increasingly confident as he involved himself in the lesson. "That way you will see their strengths, their patterns; you will know what they are capable of. You will not be charging blindly into an unknown situation like you did earlier."

He raised the sword into an offensive position, and Harrian clumsily copied it. "I'll be coming at you, this time. Don't worry; I'll hold back. All you have to do is knock my attacks aside. We'll take it from there."

Khalid kept his moves slow, but not patronisingly slow, and Corias seemed quite capable in simple deflection. It was a start; there was talent there to work from. They kept this up for five minutes or so, the half-elf increasing his speed and viciousness as they continued, until Khalid did a lunge forwards, not dissimilar to the one his young friend had done minutes earlier but with a little more grace.

Harrian copied the side-step his tutor had made on that occasion, and clumsily but competently duplicated the twist of the sword that took Khalid's flying out of his hand and clattering against the wooden floor.

The half-elf didn't move, merely smiled at him. "Y-you're not going to hit me on r-rump, now, are you?" he asked cheerfully, the stutter back as the lesson finished, pleased with the progress his student had made – both in skill and psyche.

"The thought had crossed my mind," the thief responded, equally bright as he put his own wooden sword down.

Khalid laughed. "That's enough f-for today," he assured him. "We'll continue this t-tomorrow."

* *

Amalas wielded two swords, which didn't make things easier, but Harrian had been taught well by the best. He might not have been at the forefront of the fighting when it came to a battle, but one-on-one, he was finer than most of his profession. Dual-wielding wasn't a problem.

The stone arena was perfect for this sort of fight – open and with no hidden surprises that could make things difficult. Which meant that Amalas could only take him by surprise with a vicious yet controlled charge forwards, which he did.

Moving more by instinct than consciously, Harrian took the traditional side-step, but Amalas had anticipated such a move, and a scimitar came sweeping across, aimed at his ribcage. Corias flicked his blade upwards to deflect it, then brought the hilt of his sword down on Amalas's back before stepping away.

Outside the arena, Anomen frowned. "By Torm, he had an opening there; why didn't he take it?" he muttered, more to himself than to anybody else, but Jaheira, beside him, overheard the comment and smiled ruefully.

"He is trying not to kill him," she sighed. "And whilst that is a very noble stance to take, it is not so good when his opponent is fully willing to become lethal. It has placed him at an unnecessary disadvantage."

Delryn frowned. "Such benevolence is wasted on a dog like that." There was a silence as they watched the fight. "But he knows how to use a sword, most thankfully."

"He does," Jaheira agreed quietly. "He had a good teacher."

Harrian's holding back and maintaining a defensive position was more out of deference to Amalas's two scimitars rather than following a fighting pattern. Khalid may have been good, but he was very much the old-school swordsmanship; an honourable duel, with the one sword on either side, and if you were in a battle facing vicious opponents, you had someone as big as Minsc next to you to take the brunt of the attack.

Corias took a quick change of plan, stepping forward and swinging in an over arm slash that would have split Amalas's skull had a scimitar not been raised in time. He stepped back in time to parry the blow from the second sword, feeling the effort fighting two blades was taking.

Their blades were locked, and even as his opponent brought his second scimitar up in a slash that would make a mess of his ribs, taking advantage of Harrian's defenceless left side, the thief curled his fist and punched Amalas solidly in the face.

Back outside, Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "Now that, my husband did not teach him," she informed Anomen. The squire nodded, then did a double-take at the word 'husband'. He quietly decided to leave that little note of information for later.

Amalas fell back, through the barrier around the duelling ring and into the main tavern of the Copper Coronet, dropping one of his scimitars as his left hand shot out to grab a table to stop himself from falling entirely.

Harrian leapt out at him, playing time clearly over, and stabbed at the staggering man, who just managed to twist to the side in time to avoid getting skewered on his opponent's blade. Amalas straightened up, recovering balance, then took his scimitar in a two-handed grip before swinging at Corias.

The thief blocked it easily, but the strength of the blow pushed him back and knocked him over a table. He was able to turn it into a roll that got him on his feet quickly, but he had been knocked off balance and Amalas, now going for a strong offence, took advantage of his hurried defensive posture.

He backed off under the blows raining down upon him, until instinct took over and he kicked a stool to the floor. Amalas got his legs tangled up in it, giving Harrian a second's breathing space. Which was enough for him to smash his opponent in the face with his fist once more, knocking him to the floor.

Harrian stood over his prostrate opponent, sword levelled at him. "That… that'll teach you to learn some manners," he panted, getting his breath back, his vision swimming a little from oxygen deprivation.

He was so tired, he didn't respond in time to Anomen's bark of warning. "Behind you!" the cleric yelled as one of Amalas's lackeys stepped up with a short sword, and he leapt over a table, mace upraised, ready to bring it down on the treacherous barfly's head.

The bar exploded into uproar long before he got there.


	10. Rough Respite

_Author's note: Finally, I have a webpage up dedicated to Shadowmasters. Go to www.shadowmasters.webalias.com and check it out!_

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Chapter 10: Rough Respite

Harrian rolled over to face the night sky, and gingerly raised a hand to his face. It was wet, and examination of his fingers merely showed a dark liquid, unidentifiable in the half-light. He tasted it gingerly, before grimacing and spitting it out. Mud. Better than blood.

He sat up, rubbing his head ruefully. The last thing he remembered was Anomen shouting at him, then he'd been clobbered over the head by… someone. Oh yes, and he'd been just about to make Amalas beg. It wasn't a particularly noble wish, but _nobody_ insulted his friends and got away with it.

The thief looked around. He had been lying on a wooden surface, but was clearly outside, which had confused him until now. They appeared to be on the roof of a building, and a quick examination of their surroundings confirmed it was the top of the Copper Coronet. Great. Nine hours or more of his life had disappeared, and he'd only moved a few metres in that time.

Finally, he took in his immediate environment. There was a fire going on the rooftop, and Jaheira was crouched by it, cooking… something. Gods, they were camping on a rooftop. The guards would go spare if they actually cared.

By his feet, something shifted, and he looked down to see Minsc's slumbering – or unconscious – form. Boo slept on his stomach, rising and falling with the ranger's breathing, and they both looked as if they were getting some much-needed rest.

Anomen was huddled by the fire, his armour in a pile beside him, a blanket over his shoulders, clearly wondering just what he was doing with the group. Yoshimo slept beside him, katana within arm's reach, seemingly attentive even whilst asleep.

Jaheira stepped up to him, holding a steaming cup. "You're awake," she observed flatly, passing the cup to him. He nodded, his throat too dry to speak, and sipped the drink tentatively, then smiled gratefully to her.

She shook her head, sitting down next to him, a slightly wry smile on her face. It was a common expression for her. "That was not the smartest action you have ever taken," she told him bluntly.

"He was asking for it," Harrian answered honestly. "You know what I'm like when people insult the ones I care about." He looked blankly at her, his expression unreadable. It was not a face she wanted to dwell on either.

She cuffed him lightly, playfully, around the head. "Just get some sleep. You'll be needing it; I guarantee you you'll be feeling ten times worse in the morning. And if you don't… well, I'll have to do something about it."

Whatever the drink was, it helped him carry out her orders fast. He was asleep – real sleep, not unconsciousness this time – before she had returned to the fire as Anomen blew on his own drink (tea this time, not a sleep-aid) to cool it down.

They sat in silence for a moment, Jaheira perched on a box, Anomen curled under his blanket. The squire finally looked over at her, feeling a little sheepish. "Art thou cold, my lady?" he asked respectfully in the end.

"Keep the blanket," she responded firmly. "You look as if you need it far more than I could. I have camped in far rougher conditions." Jaheira didn't look at him, merely kept her eyes on the surroundings, ready for any more unexpected surprises.

He nodded gratefully. "I must confess, I am a creature who enjoys his comforts," he murmured, sipping the tea and sighing. If someone had told him twenty-four hours ago that he'd be involved in a bar-room brawl and be forced to sleep on a rooftop, he'd have told them to go to the hells. All nine of them.

"Regretting your decision to join the group yet?" Jaheira asked casually, a slow and unwilling smile pulling across her face.

He shook his head, also smiling ruefully. "Not yet. I am sleeping on the roof of one of the seediest bars in Athkatla, drinking poor-quality tea heated on a fire that could probably set the city ablaze after having been one of the causes of a most destructive brawl which got me banned from the inn I have been staying for the past few weeks… and yet I would laugh about it, were I not so damned tired."

He glanced over at Harrian's sleeping form. "Do you think he knows it was I who hit him, Lady Jaheira?" Anomen asked quietly, frowning, his expression altogether very sheepish. It _had_ been a mistake – Amalas's lackey had stepped aside and pulled Corias back at the last moment, and Anomen had been unable to stop the massive swing of his mace.

"He would have leapt at you the moment he awoke if that was the case," the druid answered, managing her first half-joke of the past two days. "But do not dwell on it. It is probably for the best that he did not get even more involved in the fight. Minsc did enough damage for the five of us."

"Aye, and he is sleeping like a baby after bringing about such chaos," Delryn chuckled, then looked at the clouds in the night sky. "It will probably rain," he commented bleakly. "Just to bring the day to a shining end."

Jaheira looked up at the night sky. "It will not," she decided promptly and idly, as if it did not matter either way. "It is a shame Minsc has a need to sleep after his rage takes hold, or we might have been able to make it to another inn. As it is, even if Harrian had been awake we would not have been able to take him there."

Anomen shrugged. "There are no inns within a distance we could carry him anyway," he pointed out. "I believe the closest is Delosar's, or the Five Flagons, and they are in the Bridge District. Other than the Sea's Bounty in the Docks District and the Mithrest, those are the only other inns of any note in Athkatla. And, ah, the Docks District is Shadow Thief territory."

Neither of them spoke for a short while, and it was not until Anomen's mug was empty that he considered asking the question preying on his mind. Or, at least, one of many, because there was nothing about this group which was clear-cut. He cleared his throat tentatively. "If it isn't too much to ask," he mumbled, before coughing again and forcing himself to speak louder. "You mentioned, during the duel, that you have a husband?"

He cringed inwardly as she faced him, and he caught the controlled mask she usually wore flicker a little, a small flash of pain clear in her eyes, the same one he'd seen outside the Adventure Mart that morning. Was it only that morning? Gods, it seemed like a lifetime away.

"Had," she responded shortly, and Anomen felt his stomach sink. He really should have listened to his gut instinct and kept quiet. Keeping quiet – he never seemed to be able to do that, and with his lack of eloquence he could rarely get away with a misspoken word. "He was murdered," Jaheira continued, taking a faltering breath. "By Irenicus."

Delryn looked down, trying not to frown and mentally kicking himself for speaking out of turn. "I'm sorry," he murmured, then set the mug aside shortly. "Forgive me for asking, I did not mean to…"

"Do not worry yourself about it," Jaheira assured him, her voice emotionless. There was another uncomfortable silence. "You must be tired, with all of the drunkards you hit with your mace today," she said pointedly, and had there been a different run-up to the end of the conversation, he might have smiled.

"Yes… yes." Anomen nodded, before rolling over, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. He paused, still mentally kicking himself. "Good night, my lady," he murmured, as loud as he dared.

Jaheira looked over at him, then up at the night sky. She knew she would get as much sleep this night as she had the night before. Idly, the druid wondered which of her travelling companions would stay up with her the next evening to help her through this.

Her eyes slowly wandered over to where Harrian was sleeping, looking deceptively harmless and boyish in his slumber. One could only fathom his thoughts, where his mind was now, what he was going through… but from everything she'd seen, he'd been well-taught, well prepared for what was ahead.

Lucky. She'd seen everything Toril had to throw at her; had a lifetime's experience, and nothing could have prepared her for that loss. Somehow, watching Harrian's duel had made Khalid's death sink in that much more… watching it, the way he fought, the style so like that of her dead husband…

Jaheira sighed, grabbing a broken board from the box and throwing it onto the fire to keep the flames alight for longer, so she did not have to see this night alone and in perpetual darkness.


	11. New Beginnings

Chapter 11: New Beginnings

By the next evening, things seemed to have settled down for the party. They had been rather rudely woken up by the city guard in the early hours of the morning, and instructed to get the hell off the streets before they were thrown in prison. Yoshimo, as the person having inflicted the least damage to the inn, had been delegated (leader's prerogative, according to Harrian) to see if the Copper Coronet would give them a room.

Lehtinan had been disinclined to do so, and Yoshimo had the bruises to prove it.

And so, after spending an hour attempting to rouse the still-sleeping Minsc, Jaheira had taken charge, once again deciding that Harrian was in no suitable frame of mind for a command role. Indeed, the thief had still been barely recovered from the brawl the other day, without a helmet as he had been and hefty as Anomen's mace was.

So the druid had taken their squire's advice – for he was the only other in the group with some modicum of having his wits about him at that moment – and gratefully left the Slums district. News of the brawl had not yet reached the Five Flagons, and they had been more than happy to take their coin and give them five rooms indefinitely.

Despite the party's desperate need for a more solid form of income than the thousand or so gold coins they'd made from selling trinkets taken from Irenicus's dungeon, and the fact that they'd taken almost two days to do literally _nothing_ to further their quest, it was agreed by all that they take the rest of the day to recover, so as to be on top form for whatever they would next have to deal with.

Consequentially, the party disappeared off to their separate rooms for their separate tasks – sleeping, healing, or thinking – for the duration of the remainder of the day, and it was not until the evening that they met up in the tavern of the Five Flagons for their first real meal together.

Harrian was poring over a piece of paper when the others joined him at a table near the back, but he was studying whatever it was so intently, all he managed was a grunt in reply to their greetings.

Jaheira looked at him for a moment, then reached across and took the paper from his hand. "A 'good evening' would not come amiss, you know," she murmured, her spirits a little recovered from the previous night but understandably not fully.

"I was reading that," Corias protested, but made not attempt to retrieve it. "Just making there that there are no discrepancies." The others looked at him, including Jaheira, who had made one attempt at reading the thief's handwriting then given up. Gorion had often despaired of his studies.

"A plan of action, as I mentioned yesterday," he continued, scratching at the back of his neck idly. "If we're going to make it anywhere in this city, we're going to have to be prepared and have planned solidly. Especially with the Shadow Thieves around."

"I doubt they will take kindly to your treatment of Bayle, yes," Yoshimo agreed, pulling the paper towards him once Jaheira had given up in disgust. He squinted at it. "'Get spellcaster, Find job, Talk to Cowled Wizards'?"

"I never said it was a long list," Harrian muttered defensively, the fatigue plain in his voice. "And those are our basic plans. Tomorrow, we need to ask some questions, find some more people who'll help us." He looked firmly over at Anomen. "I don't suppose you'd know where the Cowled Wizards can be found, would you?" he asked, not really expecting much of an answer.

Delryn and Yoshimo exchanged looks, before the squire answered, "the Council of Six building, in the Government District." He frowned a little, as if this was the most obvious thing on Toril.

Harrian raised an eyebrow. "So they don't… hide behind some other dominant power, using them as a front for their operations whilst they operate in secret where nobody can get to them?" he asked, the surprise clear in his voice. He was not used to this sort of thing.

"They are a legitimate power," Anomen shrugged. "You may find it hard to get to talk to somebody of any influence, and even if you do I sincerely doubt they will be disposed towards helping you… but they are easily available. If you want a spellcaster in the party, I highly recommend you get a license from them as well."

"Yoshimo mentioned that," Harrian murmured. "Pay a certain amount of money and they will allow us to have a mage who is legally entitled to cast spells within the walls of Athkatla, correct?"

Anomen winced; it was clear that the thief's phrasing of the matter did not bode well with him. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose. Officially, you have to apply and then wait until your suitability for such a license can be evaluated… but many spellcasters have been known to offer gold to, ah, speed up the process."

"And bypass an evaluation," Jaheira observed. "Only in the City of Coin."

"The system works," Yoshimo insisted, a little indignantly, although all noted Anomen did not share in the bounty hunter's assurance.

"For brigands such as yourself," the squire snapped indignantly. "The upstanding citizen in this city is taken advantage of by corrupt merchants doing deals like the Cowled Wizards' monopoly on magic. Or, at the very least, a criminal injustice is done daily by small-time operators like yourself or vast organisations such as the immoral Shadow Thieves!"

There was a long silence, during which Harrian took his piece of paper back, and Boo leapt from Minsc's shoulder onto the table. The ranger looked up cheerfully, oblivious to the tension that had settled upon them. "Boo says that everyone needs food." There was a pause, followed by an indignant squeak. "And he wants crackers."

Everyone exchanged looks, and Harrian was about to wave one of the waitresses over when there was a loud banging noise from the staircase on their heading down to the cellar. The barman had informed them that a bard troupe had taken up residence recently, but due to Harrian's low tolerance for the theatre, they had not investigated it.

A tall, cadaverous man dressed in black erupted up the stairs, a long cloak flapping behind him, and rested on the banister, panting. "I don't care _how_ much money those plane-hoppers are paying, I did _not_ sign up for _that_!" he shrieked down the staircase.

He was followed by a dwarf moving at a similarly speedy rate. "By Moradin's Hammer!" the red-haired man bellowed. "Rescuin' their tiefling be one thing, but I dinnae agree to fight bloody demons!"

A head popped up at their feet. "Are you warriors or wenches?" This third man was heavily armoured; so heavily armoured they couldn't see his face as the party watched on numbly. "It's just the one mephit…"

Just then, he let out a short, sharp yelp of pain, then disappeared from sight. There was an ear-splitting scream which came to a halt surprisingly abruptly. Patrons of the bar glanced in that direction briefly before ignoring them.

"That's _it_!" the man in black shrieked again. "To the hells with this city! I shall take my magical arts elsewhere, where I shall not get ripped to pieces at the drop of a hat!" He turned on his heel and swept out haughtily, cloak flapping behind him.

"Aye!" the dwarf agreed, trotting beside him. "If tha beer's good in tha north, then I be saying on ta Baldur's Gate for me adventuring!"

The odd duo stepped out, leaving a rather bemused group of adventurers behind them, all waiting for somebody to make the first step after such a veritably bizarre exchange and piece of action. There was no sound from the cellar.

Harrian raised an eyebrow at them all, then shrugged, getting to his feet and ensuring his longsword was fixed correctly to his belt. With sighs, the others joined him, and, as one, they headed down the stairs.

The body of the heavily armoured man was lying at the bottom, and by him, the body of a dust mephit. There were about five other demonic bodies littered around the stage of the playhouse, and four people picking about them desolately.

Corias took a step towards the actors before a thought struck him. He knelt by the armoured body and searched quickly for his pack. From it, he pulled a purse – which he pocketed – and a handful of scrolls. As the others looked on curiously, he shuffled through the pieces of paper, before waving one triumphantly at the others. "Thought so. Magic use license," he declared happily, putting it inside his own purse.

Anomen wore a mask of intense disgust. "You just took the belongings of a dead man," the squire murmured a little numbly.

"I did," Harrian agreed, getting to his feet. "It's not as if he's going to be needing it any more… and I doubt his friends will be back for the coin. We have rooms for another four nights from that man's purse." The thief grinned at him and patted the unhappy cleric on the shoulder before turning to the four actors.

"We heard some of the noise from the, ah… disturbance, and it sounded as if there was a situation here that could use a few extra blades?" Harrian asked brightly, folding his arms across his chest as he surveyed the four rather odd-looking performers.

One of them, a woman, stepped forwards, a broad smile on her face. "If you could help us, we would be most grateful. As you must have seen, the party we originally hired did not quite have the stomach for the situation."

"We've faced a considerable number of perils," Corias said dismissively. "Whatever it is you need us to do, I'm sure we can manage it. It seems as if all you've had to face are a handful of mephits anyway."

"There may be worse things lurking." The woman shrugged. "My name is Raelis Shae, the leader of this group of troubadours. We travels between the planes, performing our plays wherever we see fit." She pulled a small blue bauble from out of her cloak. "We do so with this portal gem. When we arrived on Toril, Haer'Dalis here –" At this, she nodded in the direction of one of the tieflings, a lanky man with blue hair who nodded sternly at them, "had the gem, but was kidnapped by a mage named Mekrath. We hired the men you saw to rescue him and the gem, which they did, but –"

"You asked them to fend off all manner of monsters that would emerge from the portal as you tried to open another, and they were… unprepared for what did attack them," Jaheira finished, looking inquisitively at the gem held by Shae.

"Precisely." The troubadour leader nodded, smiling again. "You appear to be a capable group of adventurers… could you finish what they did not? Fight off the monsters that may appear through the portal?"

Harrian looked briefly at the others, then smiled at Raelis Shae. "I don't see why not," he decided at last.


	12. The Longest Night

_Author's note: Yes, I missed out the whole Thrall and Warden quest. My attempts at writing it didn't do it justice, and simply came out as... stupid. Besides, this is not a battle-fic!_

Chapter 12: The Longest Night

Although it was the second time he'd been through it, the portal made Harrian's insides feel as if they were being liquidated, and the moment he could feel solid ground beneath his feet as he emerged back in the playhouse, his legs buckled and he fell to the floor with a groan. He dearly wished that it wasn't the role of the leader to take point in these situations.

Minsc was next, and although the ranger staggered a little, looking a bit green, he managed to stay upright. He ignored Harrian totally and leant against the wall, looking as flustered as anyone had ever seen him, before taking a deep breath and proceeding to feed Boo crackers.

Harrian slowly started to peel himself off the floor as Anomen flew through and landed a metre away from the swashbuckler, also falling to the ground, the weight of his armour bringing him crashing down on the boarded floor.

Yoshimo appeared a little better off, though spent a good few seconds hyperventilating against a wall. The tiefling blade Haer'Dalis was next, looking happy and content and not slightly bothered. _He would, wouldn't he,_ Corias thought sourly. _The bugger's been doing this every other week up until now_.

Jaheira was last, and, much to the dismay and surprise of the others, seemed perfectly fine, save some ruffling of her clothes. She looked at Harrian, who had managed to get up to his knees, and Anomen, who had only managed to roll over onto his back, with a note of surprise and slight derision before turning to Haer'Dalis.

"You may have stayed on this plane for some time," she said to him, "but I would be correct in assuming you have nowhere to go and no place to stay, would I not?" she asked quietly.

The trip to the outer planes had been bizarre, at the very least. Cambions had been faced by the party before, but not one quite as ferocious as this, and the Balor, the Master of Thralls had been a most powerful foe to vanquish. But they had rescued the Five Flagons troupe, and torn apart the stability of an empire within a plane… which wasn't bad, seeing as it wasn't even midnight yet and they'd only left a few hours earlier.

Haer'Dalis smiled broadly at her. "Fair lady, your offer is too generous… but this sparrow is thankful for it and would be more than happy to join you on your journeys." He turned to offer a hand to help Harrian up, and the thief accepted it gratefully, suppressing a smile as he saw the mortified look on Jaheira's face. He supposed she had only been intending to offer the tiefling some coin and some advice on Athkatla.

"You're a bard, aren't you, Haer'Dalis?" Harrian asked, ignoring the druid as she threw her hands in the air in disgust and virtually dragged Anomen to his feet. At the tiefling's happy nod, the thief grinned. "Then welcome aboard. We have need of a spellcaster such as yourself in our group."

"My raven, any use I can be to you throughout your quest fills me with delight," the tiefling assured him in his slightly sing-song voice. "But come. You mentioned a childhood friend who needed rescuing and an evil mage from whom you required answers?"

"Aye, that is our task," Corias assured him as the party started to stagger up the stairs. "But right now it seems as if we would all settle for a soft bed and some food," he added, looking at the state of the others. "Action will come tomorrow."

* *

For the third night in a row, Jaheira could not sleep, and it was starting to get irritatingly repetitive. It wasn't that she wasn't tired – the fatigue followed her throughout the day and it was a miracle she could function – it was just… the thoughts which plagued her mind made rest an impossibility, and on the few occasions sleep did reach her, so filled was it with nightmares that she would be awoken after a few seconds.

The nights were spent reading, so as to keep her mind off the morbid fixation it was so happy in focusing on. It didn't seem to be working – she'd spent an hour on one page, reading and re-reading it over and over, but the words just washed over her, not sinking in.

She was saved from having to do anything else by a knock on the door. Before she could respond, however, it was opened, and Harrian poked his head through. There was something about being a thief that gave him problems on handling privacy. At least he'd bothered to knock, she supposed.

"Still can't sleep?" he asked sympathetically by way of greeting, then stepped in, uninvited, and pulled up a stool by the table in her room. At her querying glance he smiled a little. "I've been unconscious for the best part of the last forty-eight hours. I don't need any more sleep." He sighed, his expression softening. "I thought you might want some company," he elaborated quietly.

"If I had wanted some company, I would have sought it," Jaheira said abruptly, glaring at him a little bit. She could smell the upcoming talk, and it was one she wanted to delay for as long as possible.

Harrian didn't move. "I'll rephrase that, then. I thought you might _need_ some company," he amended, his voice still low. 

"There I things I need to do," the druid responded evasively, gesturing towards the book by her side. "I don't have time for frivolous discussions."

Corias reached out and took the book. "The 'History of the North'?" he read dubiously, before tossing it onto the table behind him. "It can wait. History's not going anywhere and I doubt it is imperative that you learn of it this evening."

"I also doubt it is imperative that we talk this evening," Jaheira responded stubbornly. She didn't want this discussion. Not here, not now. Not with him.

"I think it is," the thief said, shifting the stool closer to her. "You are hurting inside, Jaheira, it doesn't take a genius to work it out," he said quietly. "But you're also bottling it up far too much. You're not letting yourself grieve like you should."

"Like I should?" she repeated, arching one eyebrow. "You are not the best of people to turn to for help on such matters." The druid sighed, her gaze moving over to the window. "Why did you let yourself be goaded into that idiotic duel?"

Harrian stopped, taken aback by the turn of the discussion, but also knowing he wouldn't be able to avoid it. "The imbecile insulted you, as I have said. I wouldn't let him get away with that."

"Why not? I doubt you'd have flown into such a rage had he insulted any of the others." Jaheira shrugged. "And before you give me a sexist answer, I'll remind you that, had it been Imoen, you would have simply permitted her to turn Amalas into a frog."

Corias shifted uncomfortably, twiddling his thumbs. "If you have theorised this much, I am sure you have established what the reason is. If not, I'd be very surprised." He sighed, then looked at her. "You just want me to say it, don't you."

She shook her head, looking at him at last. "No." There was a long pause, and she took a deep breath. "You know that it is not necessary for you to do what you did. I am capable of taking care of myself –"

"But that's not the point, is it?" Harrian answered, a little frustration creeping into his voice. "I owed Khalid _so_ much, the least I can do is save his wife from being insulted by a trio of boorish pigs!"

"I doubt Khalid would have done the same," Jaheira murmured, averting her eyes and closing once again as she took a deep breath, struggling to retain control. There was silence, then a soft thump as Harrian shifted from the stool in front of her to sit on the bed beside her, resting his back against the wall as she was, legs dangling over the side.

"You know he would have done," Corias assured her, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder. He had come ready for this, but was still unsure of himself – Jaheira had always been strong, had never faltered; he was unused to seeing her like this.

"What happened was… not right," the druid whispered, leaning on him a little, looking at him frankly, the unshed tears clear in her eyes. "We can do everything possible to make Irenicus pay, but… it will not bring Khalid back."

He slowly slipped his arm around her shoulder, drawing her to him, a friend comforting another in time of need. "You can get through this," he assured you quietly. "We're all here for you to help you get on with your life. It's what he would have wanted."

Although Harrian couldn't see it, she smiled wryly. "You fight like he did, you know," she told him.

The thief sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall. "I know," he whispered. "But not as well as he did."

Nothing more was said that night as the two friends stayed together… but it was there that Jaheira finally managed to sleep. 


	13. The Cowled Ones

Chapter 13: The Cowled Ones

****The next morning was brighter for all. The party had spent three days floundering pointlessly, drifting even further away from their goal in an attempt to gather themselves, but the events of the previous night seemed to have helped. Journeying to another plane, fighting not inconsiderable foes and, above all, being forced to work as a _team_ had given them a sense of purpose, and a sense of being a group… not a mere assembly of individuals.

Harrian had expected no miracles for Jaheira's mood, but had hoped that she would draw some strength from the previous evening; be happier and more at ease with herself and the situation because of it. Fortunately, his hopes had been well-founded – the pain in her eyes was still ever-present, but everything else… the stern mask, the overly-controlled tone of her voice… were all gone, and what was left was the druid he had come to know and value.

Haer'Dalis, despite having been thrown into a completely unknown situation with completely unknown people and been expected to settle in easily, appeared to be in his element. He seemed to delight in tormenting Anomen in particular, although all but the squire could see the mostly good-natured point to his gibes.

The standard of his fighting had been seen whilst the party was fending off the demons coming through the plane portals, and later during the rescue. His style was fast – flashy, but efficient and extremely dangerous, and he didn't skimp on the magic missiles when it became necessary.

Hopefully, that wasn't something that would become necessary today. With any luck, they wouldn't need his fighting style to combat foes, his magic to defeat them, or his wit to raise their spirits (or not). For they were in the Government District, and looking to talk to the Cowled Wizards about Imoen.

Harrian would confess that his expectations were exceedingly low. He wasn't anticipating the wizards to be particularly forthcoming, and was perfectly happy to implement a few… persuasive tactics, if the situation called for it.

Though the old adage crossed his mind as they approached the park… 'Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger…'

To the hells with them. He was here for Imoen, or, at the _very_ least, he'd settle from some answers and a pointer in the right direction. He didn't care what these mages had to throw at him; it would take more magic than was on Toril to shift him in his actions.

He looked up at the building of the Council of Six. It was tall, imposing, and perfectly fitting for a mysterious governmental body. The thief part of his mind evaluated its strengths and weaknesses; points of easy penetration and points of high security to be avoided if at all possible. Corias hoped he wouldn't need them.

"Harrian, are you sure that this is a good idea?" Yoshimo asked cautiously. "You have already made a foe of the Shadow Thieves. It would not bode well if you angered the Cowled Wizards as well. There are only so many major factions you can take on at once," he added wryly, a deep frown on his face.

"Much as it pains me, I must agree," Anomen said quietly, ignoring the mockingly surprised and offended expression Yoshimo threw him. "If you offend them, they will find some rule you have infringed and then we will all find ourselves off to join your Imoen."

The swashbuckler looked slowly and thoughtfully at the building for a long moment, pursing his lips. "Good," he decided at last, before striding forwards and pushing the massive door to the building open.

Minsc leant a little towards Haer'Dalis. "Boo needs to know… do you think we will be needing to lend our butt-kicking skills to Harrian today, or is this a time for… subtlety?" he asked, as conspiratorially as he had ever spoken.

The bard paused contemplatively, frowning. "I am not entirely sure, my hound and hamster," he declared at last. "It seems as if our raven is planning to merely execute the fine art of subtle conversation. Well, that is clearly his intention; whether or not it is to be carried out… we shall see. I suggest that we be prepared to lend our skills at any moment, for this is a perilous place we go to."

Harrian strode through the doors, taking in the sights quickly. A few government officials… a few guards… a few nobles looking authoritative… and a group of mages lurking around the centre of the room suspiciously. Perfect.

He felt a hand grasp his shoulder firmly, even as he started forwards, and glanced curiously at Jaheira. "Do not do anything foolish," the druid reminded him sternly, aware of the potential consequences of a stupid move, before letting him proceed.

Tolgerias was quite pleased with himself today. He had managed to find an addled group of adventurers to seek out Corthala and bring him to him. Although the small party of overly-enthusiastic 'warriors' had capabilities that placed a serious cloud of doubt over him, they were willing, and a single ranger would probably not present much a problem for them. If they found him.

He sighed. Oh well… it wasn't as if the clock was ticking. That sphere showed no signs of moving, and he doubted Corthala was going to disappear forever. He would show up. Men like him always did.

He had thus expected it to be a slow day… not many people would approach him for questions. Few people, if they had an issue or query about the Cowled Wizards, would actually carry it through.

Which was why Tolgerias was highly surprised as a rather motley band of people approached him, most looking quite tentative, their leader with a highly determined and focused air about him. The wizard peered curiously at them. This sort of thing, and this sort of people didn't come to him often.

"I have a few questions for you," Harrian said quietly, not bothering with an introduction or establishing just who the Cowled Wizard was. "And I'd be most indebted to you if you could answer them fully and without any… sneakiness."

Tolgerias smiled falsely. "I shall do my best," he replied, with a decidedly oily air about him. "Please, proceed so I can do my best to enlighten you." The patronising air was one he employed for all such people, although… his curiosity was piqued with this group. They were not of one clear-cut category of the populace.

"A friend of mine was _abducted_ by the Cowled Wizards three days ago," Harrian said, his voice as emotionless as possible. "I would like to know where she has been taken, what will be done with her, and how or when she is going to be returned. And without any… evasive answers, please."

Tolgerias's false smile faded instantly. He didn't take kindly to the 'please', clearly added as a fake courtesy from the tone of his fellow's voice. "I believe you are talking about the incident on Waukeen's Promenade, with the mage Irenicus and the girl Imoen, correct?" he asked cautiously.

"I am," Harrian responded smoothly, his expression as plain as the tone of his voice. It was quite a hard task to appear threatening whilst not being openly hostile, and he was trying to get the sentiment across in a glare.

The wizard shook his head. "They broke the law. I presume it is the girl you are attempting to retrieve, yes?" The thief nodded levelly. Tolgerias's expression darkened. "She will be kept in Spellhold indefinitely. It is a place for the magically deviant, and until we can positively ascertain that she will not be a danger to anyone, she shall be kept there." At the other man's questioning look, he smiled toothily. "Some inmates spend the rest of their lives there. Good day," he finished, not unpleasantly, before sweeping off haughtily.

Harrian tried to glare after him, but the sinking feeling in his stomach made it impossible for him to conjure up any anger. All he felt was a sense of loss and despair, and a feeling of inevitability. He would get Imoen back. He had sworn that he would, and he didn't break the promises he made to himself – they were the ones that mattered the most.

Unfortunately, it looked as if he would have to go against all of his principles, set aside his inhibitions, and go to the Shadow Thieves. It pained him to do so, but considerably less than it would pain him to lose Imoen.

His despaired thoughts faded, and he stopped only to realise that, in his pseudo-anger and dejection, he had stormed out of the building. His five friends and allies were trailing uncertainly behind him, not looking as if they wanted to intrude.

"What action shall we be taking, then?" Jaheira asked quietly, her unwavering gaze fixed on his in a way that, in any other circumstances, would calm him down, comfort him and bring him back into the real world.

But not now. Not faced with what he was. "I don't know, damn it!" he snapped at her, then forced himself to calm down as a handful of the nobles scattered around the park glared at him, and, consequently, the guards gave him a shifty and suspicious glance.

Yoshimo shook his head. "If we are to rescue Imoen and find Irenicus, it looks to me as if the most obvious course of action will be to return to the Shadow Thieves and accept their offer… for there seem to be no alternatives that present themselves."

Anomen glowered at him, then fixed Harrian with an honest gaze. "I have agreed to join with you on your quest," he said quietly, though there was a burning indignity within him which was plain for all to see. "But if you are to join forces with the Shadow Thieves… that is a course of action which I cannot – and, indeed, _will_ not – support. I am a squire of the Order, and, as such, not willing to lend my services to a group as iniquitous as the Shadow Thieves."

Harrian glared evilly at him. "I don't like this any more than you do, Anomen," he hissed. "But if joining forces with the Shadow Thieves establishes itself as what will be needed to be done to rescue Imoen, then that is the course of action I will take. As such, you can either stand with me, or find some other adventurers to fulfil a noble quest with."

A flash of anger crossed Delryn's face, but the cleric controlled it with surprising discipline. "If this is truly to be a path of righteousness that you walk, then the Gods will see to it that you do not need to affiliate yourself with a group as immoral as the Shadow Thieves. Until that time comes, I shall be standing with you and praying that the Vigilant One sees fit to grant you another course to follow on your quest."

Haer'Dalis shook his head firmly. "My raven, often it is required during a perilous quest to choose between the lesser of two evils. Even if you are to ally yourself with the devils of this plane in order to rescue your Imoen, I should consider that a far lesser sacrifice than losing her altogether."

Jaheira looked at him for a moment before reluctantly nodded. "You swore that you would never work with the Shadow Thieves after what happened at Baldur's Gate," she intoned gravely. "And so it seems as if you will have to make a choice between abandoning your principles or abandoning your sister."

The swashbuckler turned his glare on her for the first time in months. "You know, I wish for once that you could _not_ put everything in morbid terms," he barked, then sagged with fatigue and frustration. "I can't make this decision," he sighed at last. "There… there _has_ to be another way."

"There is, Mr Corias."

A man, dressed in similar robes to those Tolgerias wore, had sidled up to the group without anyone noticing, engrossed in their argument as they had been. He was human, apparently only in his mid-forties, with long brown hair that was starting to grey at the temples and a short, neat beard. It was clear he was from the Cowled Wizards.

Harrian stared blankly at him for a moment. "What do you want?" he asked, although his surprise took out the menacing tone he had intended to inject into his voice.

"To help you," the man said levelly. "My name is Jeran Mavek, and I know all about your problem, Mr Corias. How you are attempting to rescue this girl, Imoen, who is currently imprisoned at Spellhold with the mage Irenicus you seek. And I saw the small debacle back in there. Tolgerias really isn't that forthcoming with the confidential information you seek, understandably. He's already quite out of favour with the heads of the Cowled Wizards after the debacle concerning the sphere in the slums."

Seeing Harrian's still slightly dumbstruck look, Jaheira stared firmly at Mavek. "Just who _exactly_ are you, and why do you want to help us?" She hesitated a moment before continuing. "And how?"

"I'm with the Cowled Wizards, and Tolgerias is my direct superior." Mavek shrugged, then lowered his voice, becoming more conspiratorial. He didn't have the same haughty attitude as the aforementioned Tolgerias, but clearly had learnt his evasive skills of the other wizard. "Spellhold is where the Cowled Wizards keep the 'magically deviant' like your friend Imoen. I can bring her to you. I can get her released, by applying pressure in the correct places."

"How… and why?" Corias asked at last, the numbness of his brain fading a little as he peered at the Cowled Wizard.

Mavek glanced around hurriedly. "Here is not the place to talk," he told them at last. "If you will meet me outside Delosar's Inn in the Bridge District at midnight tonight, I will answer all of your questions then." He paused, cast a discreet glance at Yoshimo which only the bounty hunter caught, before turning and disappearing from sight, some magical illusion cast which blocked him from their sight.

Harrian stared at the space the wizard had been standing before turning firmly to face the rest of the party. "And the Vigilant One did see fit to grant us another course to follow on our quest," he declared quietly at last.


	14. Betrayal at Delosar's

Chapter 14: Betrayal at Delosar's

****"I can see your reasoning for aiming to keep a low profile throughout this meeting," Jaheira said quietly as she and Harrian wandered through the dim streets of the Bridge District. "But you must see that there is safety in numbers. I do nut trust Jeran."

"I don't trust him either," Corias agreed, shrugging. "He is a Cowled Wizard, after all. I have no idea why he'd help us, and I don't have much of an idea of _how_ he'll help us. He's also going to want something in return, and I'm not happy about it." He took a deep breath. "But he's a path to Imoen, and I'm willing to take that risk.

"Besides," he continued, "We're right opposite the temple of Helm, so bringing Anomen is not a good idea. Yoshimo is a local face, and I'm sure he's had dealings with the Shadow Thieves, so he may draw unwanted attention towards us. Haer'Dalis is a tiefling, in Ao's name, and Minsc…"

"Is far too distinctive," Jaheira finished for him, finally seeing his point, however grudgingly. "As opposed to you and me, who are unknown and have very few distinctive features. And we clearly do not look out of place amongst the denizens of this city," she added, frowning a little as they passed some of the scruffier night-time inhabitants of Athkatla.

"Exactly." They passed the rest of the short journey in silence; it was not a long trip from the Five Flagons to Delosar's Inn, and the less they drew attention to themselves, the better. Whatever Mavek had planned, it would be safer the less distinctive they were. He doubted a trap – there was no reasoning behind such a scheme, and besides, why such an elaborate set-up when the Cowled Wizards could apprehend them so simply themselves?

As they approached the Inn, they could see a cloaked figure, whose height and lanky frame gave Harrian the initial guess of him being Mavek. His trained senses listened and watched keenly, but there was no sign of anyone else in the vicinity; no scent of a trap or an ambush.

The mage was not adverse to using magic to enhance his own senses; they were barely five metres away, treading silently, before he turned to face them. Mavek smiled, his bright teeth shining in the darkness most disconcertingly. "You're here. Good. I was starting to worry that you wouldn't turn up."

"Can we cut the pleasantries and just get down to business?" Harrian cut in abruptly. "I want to get this over and done with, before we draw attention to ourselves and anything… unexpected creeps upon us."

"Cynical fellow, aren't you?" Mavek commented brightly, stepping out into the illumination of one of the street lamps. "Have patience, Mr Corias. I'll set things in motion so your Imoen can be retrieved soon enough."

The thief glared at him. "Alright. First things first. How can you help us?"

"I have influence," the mage said vaguely. "It shouldn't be hard to get the Grandmaster of the Cowled Wizards to overlook one unimportant inmate of Spellhold. She was merely a by-product of the entire incident on the Promenade – it was the mage Irenicus who held an interest for everyone. She can be returned, almost entirely legally, and without repercussions from my people."

Harrian folded his arms. "What do you want in return for this?" he asked at last. Despite his often-dangerous tendency to be too trusting with people, he wasn't fool enough to think Mavek would stick to his word.

"Not much," the Cowled Wizard assured him, shrugging. "All we need is –"

Suddenly there was the hum of a bowstring vibrating, and an arrow arched out of the darkness to imbed itself in Mavek's throat. With a gurgle, the mage sank to his knees, Harrian grabbing him before he could keel over entirely.

Corias yanked the arrow out of his throat, and examined the tip. "Poisoned," he hissed, before angrily throwing the mage's dead body away from him. Even with Jaheira's magical healing skills, there was nothing to be done for a fast-acting poison injected in a pivotal spot, especially when accompanied by an arrow in the neck.

Footsteps could be heard from behind them, and Jaheira whirled around, quarterstaff at the ready. Beside her, Harrian leapt to his feet, drawing his longsword, ears and eyes straining for any sign of the attacker.

To men dressed in the distinctive black garb of the Shadow Thieves emerged from the shadows, one aiming a bow at Jaheira, the other bearing a vicious-looking scimitar and eyeing Harrian cautiously.

"The Shadowmaster instructed us not to kill you," the archer said quietly and levelly, his aim not wavering. "But he did tell us to advise you to reconsider your decision of shunning our help. You will need it – there is no other way of rescuing your friend."

His companion raised his weapon threateningly. "But do not think you can go against us," he warned. "Be advised, if you interfere with the operations of the Shadow Thieves, we shall not be in the slightest adverse to killing you." The two started to prowl back, not lowering their weapons. "You have been warned!" he hissed as they disappeared into the darkness.

Harrian stared at where they had been standing for a long moment, before whirling around and setting upon Mavek's body, searching it thoroughly. "Bastards… bastards! They'd kill him, just to get us to go to them? Bastards!" he hissed.

Jaheira tapped the ground with her staff thoughtfully. "It is odd how they are willing to go to such lengths to get you to ask them for their assistance. That they might initially approach you is plausible, but this is far beyond what we have come to expect of the Shadow Thieves."

"I've stopped being surprised by the Shadow Thieves," Harrian declared finally. "Aha! What's this?" he continued, pulling a scrap of paper from one of Mavek's many pockets. "We may have a clue onto the resources and reasons of our dead magus here," he continued, opening it up and reading it.

_Jeran,_

Meet me at the Graveyard District tomorrow after dark (of course!) and let me know of how the meeting with Corias went. He should be easy to appease – give him what he wants, and he'll be putty in your hands.

~ Bodhi

"What is it?" Jaheira asked at last, still scanning the darkness for any signs of danger. Despite what the two assassins had said, you couldn't trust the Shadow Thieves, and besides… there could be other dangers out in the Bridge District at night.

"A lead," Harrian murmured contemplatively, folding it and placing it in his inside pocket.


	15. Murderer Most Foul

Chapter 15: Murderer Most Foul

The rest of the party were a mere few hundred metres away, but for all they knew of what was happening to their comrades it may as well have been a few hundred miles. Anomen felt himself in dire need of some sane or less iniquitous company, as Minsc's ramblings, Haer'Dalis's incessant pointed and – from his point of view – cruel jokes, and Yoshimo's all-round brigand-like behaviour was starting to wear on his patience.

It was odd, he reflected, how this party, which had now spent a good few days together and embarked on a not inconsiderable quest in the Outer Planes, could still function as a group of individuals, rather than a team. Socially, at least. Minsc was a little too addled to form any deep attachments with anyone which weren't based on amusement, pity or indulgence on their part; Haer'Dalis… well, his wit was not quite appreciated by all, and Yoshimo seemed to go out of his way to avoid too close a connection with the group.

The closest two were clearly Harrian and Jaheira, and not only were they not there right now, the closeness was relative to everyone else. Anomen doubted quite sincerely that the druid was allowing anyone too far into her life, having pieced together everyone's stories from Yoshimo's limited knowledge and expansive speculation, not to mention the odd piece of information that tumbled from Minsc's lips.

The four members of the party left behind for the meeting with Mavek were seated at a table towards the back of the Five Flagons – the same one as last time which had slowly started to become their regular place in the tavern – and all were indulging in some none-too-light drinking whilst they waited for the return of the thief and the druid.

The massive ranger, who had his back to the corner and thus had a good view of the rest of the tavern, abused his onlooker's position by feeding Boo nuts, quietly listening to the conversation.

Or rather, it was less of a conversation than an argument, as Haer'Dalis returned with his pokes and gibes at Anomen's fighting style, with Yoshimo taking sides as it amused him, making whatever digs he thought could impact the debate.

The squire was glaring at the bard when Minsc finally tuned into the conversation, sensing that Boo was tiring of the nuts and setting him down on the table. The hamster sniffled around a little, before creeping across the wooden surface and setting about making himself a bed of paper scraps in front of the low candle.

"You may criticise my technique, Tiefling," Delryn was snapping as Minsc looked up, taking a sip of his beer. "But the facts are in my favour. Last summer was the Order's campaign against the hillgnasher giants, during which I slew twenty of the foul beasts. Not bad for someone who wastes time in combat with fancy moves and abandons opportunities, does it not?"

"Twenty?" Yoshimo echoed, a slight hint of amusement on his face. "I find that quite hard to believe, Anomen. Hillgnasher giants are ferocious beasts indeed."

The squire shifted a little. "Sir Ryan Trawl slew fifty," he added quietly. It had been a very long summer; the enemy horde large and the paladin army small but well-trained. Each knight or squire had achieved a high number of kills – twenty, whilst not inconsiderable, had not been a particularly outstanding total. Hillgnasher giants were incredibly strong, but incredibly slow and stupid. If a warrior was fast enough and smart enough, dispatching them one-on-one was no massive feat.

"Mayhaps, but may I then offer the possibility that your fighting skills have deteriorated greatly over the past few months?" Haer'Dalis asked, his face irritatingly open and frank. "Your performance in fighting the Cambion was not exactly… exemplary."

Anomen raised an eyebrow at the blade, mentally preparing a dozen of vicious retorts, but finding none suiting. This seemed to be his fate, this party, and they would be the death of him yet. Instead of continuing the argument, Delryn just glowered at the other two, ignoring Minsc, then stormed out of the inn.

He was starting to wonder what he had to gain from going along with these immoral fools. Harrian had struck him as a righteous man, but he was a thief, in Helm's name! Delryn was going on the quest of a thief, following a thief. It was not fitting of a squire of the Order… he was sure the Prelate would frown upon it, and anything the Prelate frowned upon was not to be taken lightly.

There was a campaign to Tethyr soon, to quell the goblin hordes uprising around there. Maybe he should abandon this fool's errand and join with the Order once again, even though he would probably have to serve under Sir Cadril, and not Sir Ryan as usual. It was a far cry from these blasted petty investigations of the city.

In his anger and deep thoughts, Anomen had stormed into a part of the Bridge District he didn't recognise, finding himself in quite a dark alleyway. He came to a halt, recognising that he was quite conspicuous in a dangerous place. He had little to fear from petty thieves, but they could still present a problem.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him, and whirled around, mace in hand but not threatening, peering through the darkness to see who was approaching him.

"Looking for a good time, mate?"

Anomen sagged. It was one of the local harlots on her rounds, approaching any low-lifes that might give gold for her company for the night. Not a threat, and generally they didn't remain in areas where people were liable to be attacked. "Begone, wench, I have no time for you," he snapped, though without the energy to input very little real venom.

The woman – more of a girl, he realised, his heart sinking – looked panicked in the dim light as she realised she wasn't going to make a sale here. "Please, sir… It's not safe to remain on the streets at night…"

Delryn frowned. "Then go home!" he exclaimed, turning to go.

She shook her head, rushing around to face him and grabbing his shoulders. "I need the coin, sir! But with the skinner murderer around here… I'm scared to stay out. Usually I can do my rounds once and be done for the night, but… please, sir, even just some coin so I don't have to go home empty-handed."

"I cannot help you," Anomen insisted. Her pleading face was illuminated by the sole street lamp over his shoulder, but he froze as darkness fell upon them both, and in the dim light could see a look of panic cross her face.

Before she could scream, as she was clearly about to, Anomen whirled around to find himself face to face with a hefty man, his features not clearly distinctive without illumination. But the knife he wielded was very obvious.

Delryn didn't have time to react as the metal thudded into his chest, and fell to the floor, surprisingly free of pain – his chest merely felt numb. But he could hear the harlot screaming, even above the singing in his ears… then the twang of a bowstring and a grunt, then running footsteps.

Shadows danced over him, then one came to a halt and strong arms gripped him, pulling him to his feet. "Is Anomen alright?" a voice, recognisable as Minsc's, boomed in his ears as the berserker warrior supported him.

The squire looked down. A knife was sticking in his armour, but as he reached down and plucked it from his chest, it was clear that, although it had pierced the metal most devastatingly – almost certainly it was an enchanted blade – it had not broken the skin. Or not enough to do any real damage.

"I believe I am alright," he managed to croak, quite shaken up. He looked around him. Yoshimo was running towards them from the end of the alleyway, bearing his bow. It was clear that he had been the one to fire the arrow he had heard. Haer'Dalis was nowhere in sight. Anomen presumed the blade had decided to work on his puns whilst the others came to… help him. "What happened?"

"The streets are a dangerous place to roam at night, my friend," Yoshimo answered, approaching them. Anomen chose to let the 'friend' bit roll as the bounty hunter continued. "Especially with the word about the murderer going around. Minsc decided –"

"Boo decided," the ranger interrupted, nodding proudly and displaying the small hamster, who squeaked in a way Anomen would swear was triumphant.

Yoshimo smiled humourlessly. "Ah, Boo decided that it would be best we went after you," he amended. "It seems it was a good idea. That was no simple mugger. No mugger worth his salt attacks a man in armour, and to operate in Athkatla independent of the Shadow Thieves, you need to be worth your salt."

Delryn thought he could hear a note of pride in the Kara-Turan's voice and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "My thanks," he declared at last, trying not to let it sound too forced. "Where is the tiefling? Off polishing his swords?" he asked disdainfully. 

"This sparrow was off following your attacker," a new voice interrupted, and Haer'Dalis appeared seemingly from nowhere. "He did not detect me, and so proceeded to his hideout. He's in the tanner shop."

"That explains it!" the harlot, who had been ignored up until now, exclaimed, and they all looked questioningly at her. "This is the second time I've been attacked by the Skinner murderer. Last time, I got a whiff of him… stank of something, but I couldn't place it. Now I know – 'twas that stuff they use on the leather."

"You think this is the skinner murderer?" Anomen asked, his question not directed to anyone in particular.

"That would make sense," Yoshimo concurred, shrugging a little. "He has been the scourge of the Bridge District for many months, according to the guards. It would be best he were taken care of."

"The crimes he has performed are foul indeed!" Minsc declared. "We must bring this evil to justice, and administer a righteous butt-kicking! So say Minsc, and Boo!" He raised the Sword of Chaos above his head and nodded firmly and proudly.

"I must agree, my hound and hamster," Haer'Dalis's lyrical voice joined in. "Such a foulness –"

They got no further, for then Anomen interrupted. "Then are we going to do something about this murderer or are we just going to sit here mumbling our consent to the idea?" he demanded irritably. "We should move!"

The harlot's eyes lit up, and she sidled up beside Anomen. "Ooh, I likes a man who knows when to take charge," she purred.

Delryn's expression flashed through about twenty emotions, none too kind and one bordering on panic. "Quickly," he added firmly.


	16. Torm, Tyr and the Vigilant One

Chapter 16: Torm, Tyr and the Vigilant One

Anomen tried the door to the Tanner's shop. "Locked," he declared at last, and all eyes turned towards Yoshimo. The bounty hunter sighed, moving forwards and pulling his lock-picking tools from out of his pocket before setting to work.

"Is this not a little noisy?" Haer'Dalis asked. "Anyone waiting inside could hear the clicking of our thief's work, and flee through a different exit?" Everyone stopped and stared at him, including Yoshimo.

Minsc stepped forwards. "Boo agrees. This is a time when a butt-kicking must be administered _immediately_!" he declared loudly, then charged forward, giving Yoshimo a mere second to get out of the way as he knocked the door down, sword swinging dangerously as he burst into the shop. His comrades came right behind him, Anomen baring his dangerous mace, Haer'Dalis brandishing his two short swords, and Yoshimo taking up the rear, an arrow already on his bow.

The room was small and quite cramped, with bare wooden floors, unstable-looking stone walls, but with at least two doors leading to separate rooms – or rather, Anomen amended after considering the shape of the building from outside, leading to staircases to different floors. It was dim, lit only by two torches on the wall and a candle at a table.

A man recognisable as the local tanner and with a build fitting the silhouette in the alleyway sat at the table, working on something that was most definitely _not_ leather, and looked up in complete amazement. "Who…?"

"Your evil murders are over, villain!" Anomen declared, pointing his mace at him. "You will either surrender, or be prepared to defend yourself against the forces of righteousness, starting with us!"

Incredibly, the tanner smiled. "I don't think so. You see, I have things very much in hand," he continued, as six ogres burst through the door behind him, brandishing battleaxes and looking very much as they meant business.

Anomen diverted his attention from the tanner immediately, and charged at the first of the monsters, his mace swinging even before he got there. Minsc, bellowing a battle cry, was already in their midst, his sword flashing in the dim light.

Behind them, Yoshimo aimed at one of the ogres, then noticed the tanner limping – for he had already been struck in the leg with an arrow that night – towards a door out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and let the arrow fly. It caught the murderer in the throat, and with a gurgle he fell back, no longer an issue. Yoshimo latched another arrow onto his bow, then let metal and wooden rain fall upon the ogres.

Anomen was beating an ogre already on its knees over the head with all of his strength, pummelling it into unconsciousness or, preferably, until its skull split. Behind him, another monster approached, axe bared, ready to bring it down upon the squire's unsuspecting back.

Nearby Haer'Dalis saw this, and quickly dispatched one of the ogres with a flashy but highly effective stab, before kicking it away. Leaping up onto the table to get a clearer sight, it was but a moment's work to cast a magic missile and shoot it at the ogre attacking Anomen.

Delryn had just dispatched his own monster, and turned to face the second, albeit too late. But the magic missile raced across the room and thudded into the ogre's eye. With a bellow, it staggered back, leaving Anomen open to smash it to the hells and back with his mace.

The squire turned to face Haer'Dalis, grinning his thanks. "You see, tiefling, _that_ is your strength. I am also capable of fending for myself in a battle," he yelled over the screams of the ogres and the clashing of metal as Minsc dealt with some of the remaining ogres, then leapt to join the giant ranger.

The blade rolled his eyes, then thrust Entropy into the chest of an ogre Yoshimo had just shot an arrow into. The remaining two ogres were presently dealt with by Minsc, a quick swing of the Sword of Chaos relieving them of their lives.

Anomen stopped, his chest heaving as he surveyed the carnage they had dealt. The tanner shop looked as if it had been hit by a bomb. Six ogre carcasses littered the floor, and, further off, the body of the tanner lying a little way off. "Did you have to kill him?" he demanded of Yoshimo. "It would have been better were he alive!"

"To bribe a judge and escape 'justice'?" the bounty hunter mocked. "No, it is best this way. This is the best justice; the only justice denizens of the underworld like him understand." He returned an arrow to his quiver coolly.

"This is murder. This is not justice. He would have faced a life of prison were he alive; now there is no evidence to even support us!" Anomen declared, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration.

"See? The system does not work." Yoshimo shrugged. "He is dead, and there is nothing we can do about it. As for evidence… well, we do not have to come forward, do we? The murderer cannot kill anymore, and we just have to keep our heads down."

"I agree with Yoshimo, Squire Anomen," Haer'Dalis interjected. "It is best to be an unsung hero than a known villain. If we flee, there shall be an investigation, which I am sure shall uncover evidence. If it does not, then… nothing links us to his death. It is not murder… this is a justice, just not the one you sought. Let us fly, my ravens!"

Unhappily, Anomen nodded, and the four of them hurried out of the building, Yoshimo stopping only to pluck the purse of the tanner from his body. It had started to rain, and the light was still as dim outside as it had ever been, and a look at the clock confirmed it was midnight. Harrian and Jaheira would be back soon.

"Boo says we should go back to the inn," Minsc rumbled, slinging his sword over his back and protecting the hamster from the rain with his hands. "It is wet and cold, and no time for righteous heroes to be wandering streets."

"Let us return to the Five Flagons," Haer'Dalis concurred. "And wait the return of our valiant leader on his errand to further his quest. Who knows what information the Cowled One has uncovered?"

They stopped as an armoured man emerged from behind the tanner shop, and weapons were drawn in a second, ready to fight even before they had established whether or not this was a threat.

Finally, light fell upon the new arrival, and Anomen gasped in surprise. "Sir Keldorn?" he queried numbly, then glared at the others. "Put down your weapons! It is Sir Keldorn, of the Order of the Radiant Heart."

Keldorn had not moved a muscle in the display of weaponry, but now moved forwards. "My thanks, Squire Anomen," he replied unsmilingly, arms folded across his chest. "I take it these are your new friends?"

"My new comrades and travelling companions, yes," Anomen responded, nodding courteously. "Our leader is not here at the moment… we were simply…" His voice trailed off as he wondered how to explain a broken door and a collection of bodies to an Inquisitor.

"Dealing with the skinner murderer, yes. I saw." Keldorn nodded briefly. "It was well-handled," he conceded. "Although you should not have allowed yourself to be distracted by the lady of the night as you were." Anomen opened his mouth for an angry retort, then caught the slightly wry smile on Keldorn's face.

Yoshimo decided to join in the debate at that moment. "You have been following us?" he asked suspiciously, his hand on the hilt of his half-drawn katana, a deep frown on his face, clearly not fully trusting Keldorn as Anomen did.

"I work in Torm's name," Keldorn started, "for the Order in keeping a close eye on the Bhaalspawn you all travel with. His destiny is undecided, his place in the realm unclear, but he is a potential source of great evil, one that must be watched."

"A Bhaalspawn?" Anomen repeated, and for some reason, everyone except Minsc turned to look questioningly at Yoshimo. There was a brief silence, and the squire shook his head. "It is Harrian, is it not? He is a spawn of Bhaal?"

"You did not know this?" Keldorn queried, genuinely surprised. "Aye, his is a Bhaalspawn, and a most powerful one at that. You are free to travel with him, young Anomen," he added hastily, at the squire's slightly panicked expression. "But be aware that I am watching you, and him. I have been since his arrival in Athkatla; this is the first time I could talk to his companions without him detecting my presence."

"To what end?" Yoshimo asked suspiciously, still not releasing his blade. "He has shown no signs of evil in all the time we have travelled with him. This is the Order meddling in affairs which are not its concern."

"Brigand, if he were to turn to the path of evil, he would be a force more powerful than any of us could imagine! He is a _Bhaalspawn_! The power and potential for evil that is within him is _immeasurable_!" Keldorn exclaimed. "If he is a man of good, then I shall watch him passively, and maybe even lend my sword to his cause if the Gods will it. But if he is a force of evil, then the Order _must_ be informed."

Anomen glared at him a little. "Why was I not informed? I travel with him. I am a squire of the Order. Even if I was not to watch him, I believe I should have been told of the situation!" he barked.

"That is not the issue here, Squire Anomen," Keldorn sighed. "I am here to tell you that you are being watched, and to warn you. If Harrian Corias turns to the path of evil, you will have a choice – you can flee and leave him for the Order to deal with; you can stand with the Order to eradicate his evil… or you can stand with the Bhaalspawn and be eradicated _with_ him." He straightened up. "It does not matter if you tell him or not. It may even be beneficial that he knows he is being watched."

Anomen glowered at the experienced paladin. "We bid you good day, _Sir_ Keldorn," he barked, before whirling on his heel and storming off, his three companions tagging along absently, not quite sure of what to make of the encounter.

"Anomen!" Keldorn called after him. "If you care for your test, then watch the path you take. Tyr is not the most forgiving of Gods – an alliance with a force for evil, even a _latent_ force for evil may doom your soul!"

The squire stopped, and looked at the inquisitor for a moment. "I thank you for your advice, Sir Keldorn, but I can deal with this myself. The Vigilant One guides my hand and my actions; if I am true to Him, if I remain His Watcher, then my soul shall never have a need to be redeemed," he intoned, before carrying on through the rain, into the night.


	17. Grave Matters

_Author's Note: I must confess, I didn't like this chapter. Block dogged me through the little details, and a small crisis of faith regarding my laid out plotline forced me to rewrite it about three times before reverting to the original plan... so don't expect great literature from this one. I know where I'm going now, however, so the next one should be a little better._

_On a brighter note, a small thankyou to my 'fans' - you know, the ones that review this fanfiction. :-D It's been ten days, and I've had eleven reviews, and that has encouraged me to continue with this epic. It seems as if Baldur's Gate is far more lucrative than Star Trek for reviews! Particular thanks to Guenhwyvar and Mija for your continued support and appreciation. You guys rock. All of you._

Chapter 17: Grave Matters

"I don't get why," Harrian murmured the following night as they approached the Graveyard District, "we're stuck in a bloody graveyard late at night – one where vampires are rumoured to roam, mind – simply by putting faith in a note carried by a dead man."

Anomen looked at him in total surprise. "You wish to rescue your sister, do you not?" he asked frankly, one eyebrow raised. "This seems to be the most logical and direct path… or at least, the most logical and direct lead," he amended.

Jaheira rolled her eyes. Ironically, she had been the sole member of the party acting 'normally'. Harrian had been in a foul mood all day, and the rest… well, they had been completely on edge and furtive, having not told the others of the encounter with Keldorn. Anomen had declared it as information unnecessary to divulge. If Harrian _did_ take a path of evil, then the Order would be better having the element of surprise in an offensive. If Harrian remained a force for good, then… well, he would never need to know, would he?

"I do not like this," Yoshimo muttered, his eyes flicking across the darkened streets. He, at least, would be happier once they were in the Graveyard. This was a thief for whom rumours of vampires held little weight. "We could be being set up for a trap."

"If it were a trap, they would have surely executed it last night at Delosar's," Jaheira offered, but all noted that the grip on her quarterstaff remained firm, her eyes taking in all potential sites from which to launch an ambush.

"Besides, I don't think Mavek was intending to get murdered by the Shadow Thieves," Harrian pointed out. "Whoever this Bodhi is, however, they should have answers for us – answers on how our Cowled friend was supposed to get Imoen back, and why they're inclined to help us."

"The graveyard… hardly the place for a force of good to meet us," Anomen murmured. "Does darkness always find itself drawn to you, or is it just coincidence that the two factions inclined to help us consisted of a guild of iniquitous thieves and suspicious fellows hiding in graveyards."

Yoshimo threw him a warning glance, but Harrian saw it as a perfectly legitimate question and took it all in stride. "These things just seem to happen," he mused as they reached the archway at the threshold to the graveyard. The place well and truly gave him the creeps, most especially at night, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his longsword. "When you've seen as much as we have of darkness, little things like this just stop surprising –"

In direct contrast to his words, the swashbuckler fairly leapt out of his skin as a woman sidled out from behind a pillar right next to him. Her skin was far too pale to be natural, though he attributed it to the darkness, and she was dressed entirely in black. "You must be Harrian Corias," she greeted them, her voice so silvery and smooth to the extent that shivers ran down everyone's spines and the grips on their weapons tightened.

The thief took a deep breath, controlling his racing heart, then turned to face her. "I am. You must be… Bodhi?" he hazarded a guess, one hand still on the hilt of his weapon. "I have a lot of questions to ask you."

The woman nodded sternly, then smiled a smile that both warmed and terrified him. "I'm sure you do," she confirmed. "And I believe I have answers to those questions. First, if you please… am I right in assuming my friend Jeran was murdered by the Shadow Thieves?"

"You are. We were to meet him by Delosar's Inn last night, but he was intercepted by the rogues and slain." Harrian evaluated her gaze coolly. "We found the note in his robes telling him to meet you here. We hope you can help us where he intended to."

Bodhi regarded him for a moment. "Come. Let us walk a while," she said quietly, gesturing towards the paths of the graveyard. The six of them stepped forwards, and she raised a hand. "Just Harrian," she amended in her silky-smooth voice.

The other five voiced their disapproval of the idea noisily, until Corias looked briefly at them. "It's alright. If you hear an ear-piercing scream, then just come running," he joked, smiling _far_ more than the situation was due.

Jaheira raised an eyebrow at him. "That," she declared at length, "is most certainly not amusing."

His next smile was more reassuring than humorous. "I'll be fine," he reassured her, then turned to Bodhi. "Fine. Let's walk and talk," he murmured, then followed her along a path that took them behind a crypt and out of sight.

"This is most certainly _not_ acceptable," Anomen insisted, the moment he was sure they were out of hearing range. "There is something about that woman that does not sit well… she is too… too…" He stopped, unable to find the right word.

"Minsc agrees," the giant ranger rumbled. "Never have I seen Boo tremble so! See his little whiskers twitch?" He raised Boo to Haer'Dalis's eye level, and, indeed, the rodent was most certainly not a happy little hamster.

"It seems our raven is quite content in walking through the jaws of death itself," the bard mused. "This lady of the night is no normal mortal… I would go so far as to presume she is a fiend!"

Yoshimo sighed. "I will concur that she is not quite the most normal of people we have yet encountered, but presuming her to be a fiend is an extreme speculation at best. Harrian knows to be on his guard."

"Harrian has the worst instincts I have ever seen when it comes to trusting suspicious people such as this Bodhi," Jaheira murmured. "His approval of her is not quite solid – indeed, I believe she should be trusted _less_ because he has approved her."

"That is a touch cynical," the Kara-Turan retorted. "It seems to me that she is just –"

"A vampire."

All whirled around to see Keldorn emerging from behind one of the monuments, no longer as casual as he had been at the tanner shop the previous night, but on guard, his double handed sword already in his hand, helmet on his head. "This Bodhi is a creature most foul indeed."

"Sir Keldorn!" Anomen gasped once again, before recovering equilibrium and looking haughtily at the Inquisitor. "You may have a mission here, but if you could refrain from such dramatic entrances…"

Keldorn threw the squire a look which brought his tirade to an end, and his gaze settled on Jaheira, deciding her to be the leader in Harrian's absence. "You have been tricked into allowing your leader to wander off with a creature of the night."

Jaheira raised a hand, her brow furrowed. "Forgive me, but… _who are you_?" she demanded, then threw a glare at the others as they shifted uncomfortably, clearly knowing something she didn't.

Keldorn looked surprised. "They did not tell you?" He sighed. "I will explain in further detail later. For now, simply know that I am Sir Keldorn Firecam of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, here to alert you that your leader may need rescuing…"

* *

"Jeran Mavek came to me outside the Council Building and informed me that he could possibly help me in retrieving Imoen," Harrian told Bodhi quietly as they wandered along the path between the graves. "We organised a meeting at Delosar's Inn last night, but when we went there, before he could help us the Shadow Thieves murdered him. We found the note from you telling him to meet you here and report on how the meeting with me had gone, and so we came."

The vampire nodded briefly. "I can help you get Imoen back, although not in the same way Jeran could, and it will take considerably more time. He was my voice in the Cowled Wizards, and now, with that voice gone… I don't have the same influence with your problem I did."

"But you can help me?" Corias asked. "I mean… it doesn't have to be Imoen's legal release – if you can direct me to where she is, I can go on my own and rescue her myself… that's all I need."

"I can get you there," Bodhi assured him. "And it won't take much. If you perform one task for me that will make it possible for me to get you there… it will give me back the inside track I need with the Cowled Wizards."

Harrian nodded sternly, a note of inquisitiveness on his face. "Anything that can help," he offered generously.

"There's a scroll, kept inside the Council building by the Cowled Wizards," Bodhi explained briefly. "It has powers which, when unlocked, would bring us a suitable step closer to finding your Imoen. If Jeran had not been killed, I would have asked him to acquire it for us… but you are our best bet."

"How… how does it help?" Corias asked, brow furrowed. "Teleportation? Highly powerful locating spell? Charm the wizards into agreeing to hand over Imoen?"

Bodhi sighed, seeing she'd have to give an explanation – however deceitful and evasive – before Harrian would comply. Damn it, she needed this… and not just because Jeran was dead. A shame; he had been a most useful ally, not to mention with a brightness and vitality which was all the more attractive in its rarity. "It's –"

Most irritatingly on cue a crossbow bolt, free of metal tip, thudded through Bodhi's chest, imbedding itself there. She looked down for a moment and froze, then yanked the bolt out of her body.

"Damn it! Missed!" Keldorn exclaimed, already cranking his crossbow for a second shot as Bodhi stared at him, let out an inhuman hiss that chilled Harrian to the bone, then suddenly and inexplicably morphed into a bat, flitting off in between the gravestones.

Corias gaped for a moment, before turning to face the Inquisitor. "Just who in the hells are you, and what in the hells was _that_?" he shrieked as his party members hurtled around to stand with the paladin.

"She was a vampire, Harrian," Anomen declared, visibly shaken as the thief walked up to them. "Sir Keldorn here is from the Order and is probably the greatest Inquisitor to ever serve the Radiant Heart. He warned us about Bodhi."

Harrian smiled humourlessly, folding his arms across his chest and glowering at Keldorn. "Explain," he snapped briefly, less than amused or impressed at how the situation had developed, shaken though he was at the news that he had almost been manipulated into a liaison with a vampire.

"I'll explain, Bhaalspawn," Keldorn responded evenly. At the thief's startled expression, he nodded impassively. "Yes, I know what you are! I have been sent by the Order to watch you. A great potential evil runs through your veins, one which, if fully achieved, could bring the lands of Toril to its knees. Know that, if you stray from a path of righteousness, the Order will not hesitate to remove Faerun of the threat you present."

Harrian raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was suitably morbid and threatening. Why don't you just cut my head off right here?" he demanded, understandably irritated by the intervention. "And how long have you been following me?"

"Do not toy with me, Bhaalspawn," the Inquisitor warned. "I have no hostile intentions towards you; I am merely here to watch and evaluate. If you prove yourself to be a force for good, you shall receive no interference from me." He eyed them all carefully, his gaze meeting Anomen's for a second longer, before turning and striding off.

Harrian glared at them all. "You knew, didn't you," he insisted. "You knew, and you _didn't tell me_!"

Yoshimo looked him straight in the face. "That's not important right now," the bounty hunter assured him as Anomen and Haer'Dalis shifted uncomfortably under their leader's piercing gaze. "What did you find out?"

Corias paused sulkily. "Other than that I almost sold our souls to a vampire?" At their astonished looks, he rolled his eyes. "Figuratively speaking," he amended, before continuing. "Bodhi told me that there's this scroll, in the Council building. It may just be what we need to find Imoen, but I don't know what it does or where it is, or even how to use it…"


	18. Developments

_Again, if you're a little disappointed... this is a slow part of the story. Next chapter may not be perfect, but after that I have some solid and hopefully entertaining plans which should make things interesting again!!_

Chapter 18: One Step Closer

Harrian had wanted to go straight to the Government Building, but Jaheira had pointed out how they were all tired. Tactfully, she had failed to bring into account how shaken up he was after his encounter with Bodhi. Nothing had _happened_, but Corias was only comfortable dealing with the undead in one way: violence.

He had slept deeply, and rose bright and rested, albeit in the early afternoon. Upon making an appearance in the Five Flagons' tavern area, he realised that, in his slumber, he had missed out on a large part of the day.

The other five members of the party seemed to be settling down for lunch, which reminded Harrian of how hungry he was (for he had not eaten in over twelve hours). His attention was distracted from food as he noticed the sixth person sitting at the table, a small, mousy-looking man with a dark receding hairline and casting furtive glances around the tavern. Corias sighed. What other pathetic denizen of this city had they come across?

Yoshimo spotted him first, which was just as well seeing as he was the only one who seemed to be fully aware of what was going on. The Bounty Hunter waved Harrian over to a seat opposite their mousy visitor, ignoring everyone else's wary glances.

There was a long silence, during which everyone turned questioning glances towards Yoshimo and the visitor. Eventually, the latter gave a slow sigh, and took a deep breath. "My name is Tellis," he started slowly. At the raised eyebrows, he continued, nodding a little more furtively than necessary. "Yes, just Tellis. That's all you'll need to know of me. Heh heh."

Harrian sighed deeply. "Alright," he muttered, resignation heavy in his voice. "I take it you're another person who wants to help us for reasons unknown and probably just wants us to give you a favour in return?"

Tellis and Yoshimo frowned, and the bounty hunter shook his head. "No… this is an informant I know. He knows about this mysterious scroll, and can help us." The Kara-Turan shifted a little. "For a price."

"This is the City of Coin," Corias muttered under his breath. "How much do you want for your information?"

Tellis didn't get a chance to reply as Anomen butted into the conversation. "What… you're just going to pay this man for information where the only verification as to how correct it is will be his word?" He threw the informant a distasteful glance. "As if that is enough," he added in a mutter.

Harrian evaluated them both coolly. Despite Delryn's reservations that had probably sparked up the comment, their squire spoke the truth indeed. He wasn't too happy about the idea of handing money over to someone who was almost certainly working for the Shadow Thieves, at least part time.

"How much money do you want for the information?" the swashbuckler continued, ignoring Anomen's disgusted expression. He knew that worms like this informant worked solely on money and greed. He could use that against him.

"Five thousand gold pieces." Tellis smiled toothily, a smile that lit up his mousy expressions and made him appear most sinister. "All in advance. Heh heh."

Anomen started to scoff, but Harrian silenced him with a look and a small wink. "We pay you three thousand now," he said levelly. Tellis grimaced, and was about to protest as Corias continued. "Then another three thousand when the scroll is in our hands."

A hushed silence fell across the table, and the informant gave a look which amused Harrian when he imagined Tellis was trying to work out the maths in his head. "Six thousand?" the mousy man finished at last, his expression one of awe. "That's a lot of gold, heh heh…"

"If you tell us where this scroll is," Corias nodded evenly. "We shall acquire it as soon as possible, then all you need to do is find us and we'll pay you the rest." At Tellis's hesitant expression, the thief smiled belligerently. "We'll be here in the Five Flagons. If not, you can get your Shadow Thief contacts to find us."

"Heh." The informant nodded furtively again. "I like that," he decided at last. "Okay, okay… I tell you, then you go give me the money… okay?" They nodded, and the small man grinned and chuckled a little. "Heh heh…The scroll, right. The Cowled Wizards have it. I don't know what it is or what it does – nobody does, I'm not even sure they do. Heh, fancy that… the Cowled Ones not knowing what this big magic thingummy is…"

He grinned hopefully at Harrian, and the thief indulged him by smiling, albeit a little tightly. "We need this scroll."

Tellis nodded rapidly. "Heh, right, okay. It's in the office of the Grandmaster of the Cowled Wizards. I don't know what tricks or traps he'll have in place, but I doubt many… to get there, you have to get through all of the mages hanging around the building. And who'd steal from a wizard? Heh heh." He passed them a small scroll. "Here's a plan of the building. It'll direct you to where you want to go. Now… money? Heh…"

The informant was clearly desperate to get out of there. Harrian assumed that the Shadow Thieves wouldn't take kindly to his giving them information which discouraged them from going to Gaelan Bayle for the help he had offered.

Corias nodded briefly, and dug in his purse from out of his jerkin. He stuck his hand in, fished out a few coins, did some brief counting, then threw the purse to the informant. "Come back this time tomorrow, and we should be ready for you," he told Tellis.

The informant nodded, and started for the door. Yoshimo also stood and walked with him towards the Five Flagon's exit. They spoke in hushed tones, the other unable to make out what they were saying, then Tellis nodded nervously and fairly ran out.

All threw the bounty hunter questioning glances as he returned to the table. "I simply told him that if he had lied to us, he would be left unable to enjoy the three thousand he has in hand. He seemed to get the point."

Anomen muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'scum', then eyed the Kara-Turan. "Honestly, Yoshimo, where do you find these dregs of society? Why do we have to keep associating with such unsavoury characters?"

Yoshimo shrugged. "Tellis has a reputation for reliability. He's an independent operator, which I thought might be better for us. He can't afford to give incorrect information, not if he wants to stay alive."

Haer'Dalis glanced over at Harrian, who was scrutinising the scroll. "Your thoughts, my raven?" he asked brightly.

Corias looked up, a little blankly. "Hmm? Oh… ah, yes. This. I don't see it being much of a challenge to get this scroll. I believe the Cowled Wizards were relying on people not knowing about the scroll as a defence."

"Or not being stupid enough to openly defy the Cowled Wizards," Jaheira murmured dryly, and ignored the looks everyone threw her. She smiled wryly. "Well, fearless leader, what thoughts do you have on the matter?"

Harrian grinned at her, taking her manner all in stride. "This is very possible. I know we're turning into creatures of the night, but if this works… then it'll all be over in a few days. We get this scroll, and see what it does… see if it has any power we can use. If it doesn't, we do an exchange with the Cowled Wizards – the scroll for Imoen." 


	19. Heist Almighty

**Chapter 19: Heist Almighty**

            Time seemed to be going by so quickly now activity was picking up. Harrian had all but lost track of what day it was and how long they'd been in the city on their search. He hoped that this was the end – or at least, the beginning of the end. However long all of this had lasted, it was long enough. He'd had enough of double-crossings, mysterious powers and hidden secrets.

            There was no telling what this scroll Bodhi wanted and the Cowled Wizards had was. The only way to find out was to get it. Ridiculous. The only reason he wanted it was because his enemies – and yes, he was quick to put the vampire on an 'enemy' list – wanted it. If it could aid him on his quest and be detrimental to the undead, then he was more than happy to follow the trend.

            Right then, he was lurking around the Government Building with Yoshimo and Haer'Dalis, scrutinising the scroll Tellis had given him. As bad luck would have it, it was pouring with rain, and his cloak was already soaked through. Still, he lifted it further up over him, protecting the piece of paper which was all they had to go by on this quest.

            "Some might consider it an omen, my raven, that the heavens have decided to open upon us prior to our endeavour," Haer'Dalis murmured, peering over his shoulder to read the scroll. They were in an alleyway around the back of the building, Yoshimo out by the entranceway keeping an eye on the Council Building's doors.

            Corias had decided only to take those two on him for this theft. He was planning to do this quietly, rather than storming the building rashly. Minsc was far too conspicuous, and not really suited to such subterfuge. Jaheira, whilst more level of head than anyone else in the party, was similarly unsuitable, without the required skills. Anomen had refused point blank to be directly involved in thieving from a governmental body.

            So it was just him, Yoshimo and Haer'Dalis. The Bounty Hunter was clearly invaluable, more suited to subterfuge and sneaking around than Corias, but Harrian felt a pang as he looked at the tiefling. He had magical skills which could be of use inside a mage's stronghold, but Corias would have given anything to have Imoen in his place for this task.

            The Kara-Turan looked around irritably. "Are we ready?" he asked, water streaming down his face as he grimaced. Why he had refused to take his cloak, Harrian had absolutely no idea. If he wanted to be wet, though, that wasn't the swashbuckler's problem.

            Corias nodded grimly. "As we'll ever be. Let's get this done," he murmured, then he and Haer'Dalis stepped out towards the entranceway of the Council of Six building. Fortunately, the two guards outside had not noticed them.

            Harrian nodded to the tiefling, who bowed his head, murmuring some arcane words under his breath. The bright blue light of an incantation rose from Haer'Dalis's fingers, then shot out and split into three forks, surrounding the trio.

            "Invisibility," the blade declared with satisfaction as they faded, visible only to themselves and each other. Harrian really didn't understand the particulars of the spell – he was a thief, not a wizard, but he just went along with it.

            "It won't last forever, however," Haer'Dalis continued as they hurried through the building's open doors. "We shall have enough time to get through the main entranceway and to the first level, if we are speedy."

            They were speedy. Tolgerias seemed a little surprised as they stepped near him, and Harrian feared for a moment that they had been heard, but the Cowled Wizard merely shook his head, seemingly dismissing it.

            Corias nodded towards the great staircase, leading up to the offices of the building, the grand chamber for the Council of Six, and, more importantly, the East Wing, the Cowled Wizards' section of the building. Tellis's report had told him where the Grandmaster's office was. As long as they had invisibility on, they should be alright, but as Haer'Dalis had pointed out, the magical change was only temporary. And he doubted the Cowled Wizards would allow someone to merely make themselves invisible, stroll into a room and steal something as valuable as this scroll seemed to be.

            They were in the corridors of the east wing before the invisibility started to wear off, but thankfully, there was nobody in sight. The government building seemed to have the same motif all over – stone structure, the odd carpet on the ground and decoration on the wall – but the Cowled Wizards' part was clearly less adorned than the rest. What use did mages have for such adornment?

            Harrian looked at the other two. "This shouldn't be too hard," he said, his voice low. "But the important thing is that we don't get identified. If the Cowled Wizards know we have the scroll, then it'll all be over. I don't think we can go directly against a force as legitimate power like them, not openly. Our defence will be in our secrecy."

            Yoshimo's expression was emotionless. "Then we had best be careful, and move quickly." He looked over Corias' shoulder as the thief opened the scroll Tellis had given him. "For all we know, the Cowled Ones may already know of our presence."

            Harrian resisted the urge to shiver at the bounty hunter's excessively morbid declaration, and the trio hurried down the corridor towards where Tellis had directed the scroll would be. Speed and time were of the essence, he was sure of it.

            The swashbuckler kept his senses open to any traps, magical or otherwise, that could have been set up by the Cowled Wizards. This was starting to be far too easy… they had made it to the Grandmaster's office without a hitch, without running into anyone, and without traps.

            Corias inspected the door suspiciously, his brow deeply furrowed. "Door's unlocked," he declared happily, and, before anyone could stop him, he pushed it open and stepped inside, into the officer.

            A high-pitched alarm that had to be magically produced sounded in their ears, and several clicks could be heard that were recognised by the trained ears as a variety of traps setting in motion. The Cowled Wizards had not let them meander in… they seemed to have just given them a chance to meander out before they got themselves into too much trouble.


	20. What Goes Around

**Chapter 20: What goes around…**

            At the precise moment Harrian and the others were tripping the alarms of the Cowled Wizards and bringing all hell down upon their heads, Jaheira, Anomen and Minsc were engaging in the closest thing to a drinking match a teetotal druid, a cleric who had seen first hand the effects of alcoholism, and a large warrior who forgot what they were doing halfway through could manage.

            Suffice to say, it struck onlookers as more like a civilised dinner which simply had a lot of drinking of tea, some cautious sipping of a fine wine – _not _for quaffing – and the random downing of mugs of beer. Between three very ill-suited people.

            Jaheira's tea-drinking seemed more out of anxiety than hydration. Corias and the others had been taking far longer than her calculations – and even their optimistic planning – had allowed. Anomen had advised that they wait a little longer, pointing out that delays were not uncommon for the sort of job they were undertaking. However, the druid was quite unconvinced. If something had gone wrong, the Cowled Wizards would not exactly send them a note telling them of their capture. They'd just disappear and never be heard of again…

            This rather morbid thought jerked her into action and she stood up quickly. The movement jostled the table, almost upending her salad and sending Anomen and Minsc's steaks to the floor. They looked at her reproachfully.

            "We are going," she said in response to their expressions. "We shall go and find them… if they are alright, the worst we will have to bear will be Harrian's moans, and I assure you, I shall receive the brunt of them. That I can handle.

            "But if things have taken a twist for the worst, then they _will_ require our assistance, and the sooner we can lend it, the better. Now, are you going to join me, or are you going to allow a lady to wander the streets of Amn by herself?" This last part was directed at Anomen, for Minsc's face already showed resolve. The cleric muttered something under his breath and nodded reluctantly.

* *

            Harrian tensed himself as he flew through the air, preparing for a landing. He was falling from quite a height, and thus mismanaging the alighting could end _very_ badly. He needed to be in one piece at the end of this so he could run.

            Things had not gone too well. They'd made it into the office, and he'd grabbed the scroll before the magical traps could kick in, though his hair was singed from a low-flying fireball. The wizards had stormed the room within seconds, and thus the swashbuckler had employed the better part of valour and fled. By jumping out the window.

            He bounced off the top of a market stall, the kind which were always positioned to break a fall, then fell to the ground, managing to roll as he hit the floor to minimise the impact. He lay, stunned for a moment, then clambered to his feet just in time to break Yoshimo's fall as the bounty hunter followed him.

The two men grappled for a moment, both struggling to get to their feet, then pulled apart just as Haer'Dalis, light as a feather, landed cat-like next to them. "My raven, I would suggest we move… for the wizards seem unlikely to let the matter drop."

            Corias nodded grimly. "Aye… the bastards just don't seem willing to give up," he mumbled, then looked up in surprise as a black shape started to descend from the window they had leapt from, albeit far more sedately than their helter-skelter falls had been. "Bloody levitation!" Harrian continued, then turned and ran, sticking the scroll inside his jerkin, his two companions hot on his heels.

            The thief was sure that they hadn't been identified, which they could easily use in their own defence. The Cowled Wizards would search the city for this scroll, whatever it was, but that would take time. Enough time for the party to decide just what it was they were going to do with this magical artefact.

            There was no order to their fleeing. They simply ran, heading for the small alleyways that were popular in Athkatla, planning to use the darkness to their advantage. For these were three who knew how to make the most of the shade, veritable masters of the shadows.

            They ran in grim silence for many minutes, until Harrian, who had been slowing for the past two blocks, came to an unsteady halt, resting on a barrel for support. "I… I think we've lost them," he gasped.

            Yoshimo grabbed him, pulling him onwards. "You hope," he amended. "Veritably, I have seen no sign of them, but these are wizards…" They paused for a long moment before the bounty hunter nodded. "I think we can return to the main streets," he conceded.

            There was a surprising number of people in the alleyways as they headed down to the main road of the Bridge District – for that was how far they'd run. They were a stone's throw away from the Five Flagons, and silently anticipating the turn of events for the better.

            They could not have been more wrong. In hindsight, Harrian supposed he should have paid more attention to the suspicious characters lurking around them, but he was physically exhausted after their mad dash and emotionally stimulated at the apparent success of their mission. They had stolen from the Cowled Wizards… and got away with it!

            So it was Yoshimo who noted that they had been subtly surrounded as dark figures blocked the route ahead and behind. The bounty hunter spoke quietly, but with a note of fear in his voice – if these were the Cowled Wizards, then leniency and mercy towards those who had wronged them were unheard of.

            Harrian drew his sword, his expression grim, resisting the urge to go for the scroll and physically protect it. This was his only link to Imoen, however distant. He would not abandon it without a fight. And a damn good one at that.

            Their followers, or attackers, or whatever they were, must have known they'd been detected as the trio drew to a halt, for a single, black-cloaked figure emerged from the group, striding across the few metres in between them.

            They quickly found two short swords, a long sword and the tip of an arrow pointed at their throat. The black-clad figure, whose features were impossible to see, paused for a moment, but the body language did not suggest fear or trepidation.

            A hand reached up to push the cloak back, revealing the coarse and confident face of the man who seemed to be their opponents' leader. "I really wouldn't do that," he assured them, his voice surprisingly devoid of accent or identifying inflection.

            Yoshimo visibly started at the sight of him, then grimaced. "Oh, Gods," he murmured, then swore in Kara-Turan under his breath.

            The man grinned, though the expression was, like his entire face, devoid of any emotion. "Yoshimo-san of course, knows me. I'll let him fill you in later… if you're both around, that is," he continued, shrugging. Then the smile became a little more playful. "Someone wants a word with you…"

            _It would be nice,_ Harrian reflected, _if this damn city_ wasn't _filled with mysterious people, none of whom we know, who are out to make our lives harder. A familiar face would be more than welcome._

            Instead, he said, "we're not going anywhere."

            The man shrugged, his smile still chillingly devoid of pleasure or humour. "Have it your way, then. We'll just take the scroll." This time, a tone did slip into his voice. One of menace.

            Harrian's expression darkened. "You know how damn hard I've had to work to get this scroll?" he demanded rhetorically. "No bloody way am I handing it over to anyone. You know how much this means?"

            The man shrugged. "No, not really," he confessed, without much consideration in his voice. "I don't think you know how much it's worth, or what it truly does. I only know one person who does… and he wants it."

            "Well, you're not getting –"

            That was the last thing Harrian remembered of that encounter, for at that moment someone struck him over the head from surprise. He remembered seeing stars, seeing the mysterious man's face, with a degree of satisfaction on it, then everything went black.


	21. Comes Around

**Chapter 21: …Comes around**

            The three who had been uninvolved in the robbery found the thieving trio relatively easy, as they were on the direct route to the Government District. Although 'found' is a slightly imprecise term, as they were discovered by Anomen tripping over Harrian's prostrate body.

            Jaheira had, for a brief moment, thought him dead, a notion that sent a bigger chill down her spine than she would have expected or admitted. But as Delryn sprawled a little, murmuring swear words no cleric should ever mutter, Corias let out a small groan.

            The druid yanked him upright in seconds, ignoring the small moan he let out at the movement. "Harrian? By Silvanus, what happened?" she demanded, shaking him none-too-gently in an attempt to bring him to full consciousness.

            "Our raven received quite a blow to the head," a voice from further into the shadows declared, and they looked over to see Haer'Dalis leaning against the wall of one of the buildings on either side of the street. Yoshimo was starting to sit up, the bounty hunter's expression less than happy.

            "That is hardly the explanation, bard," Anomen rebuked him harshly, having only just regained his balance. "How were you attacked? When? Why? By whom?" he queried, rattling off questions too fast for the recovering trio.

            Corias paused, frowning a little. "We had the scroll," he related slowly. "And 'twas a right bugger to get the bloody thing, I'll have you know," he added, a little resentfully. He raised a hand to a cut on his temple as the blood streaming from it started to cut into his vision.

            Jaheira removed his hand firmly and delicately touched the cut. She murmured a few words under her breath and the blue magical light that dictated a healing spell surrounded the injury. It was gone in seconds.

            Harrian grinned brightly, wiping the remaining blood away with his sleeve. "My thanks," he murmured softly, smiling at her.

            Yoshimo gave them a brief look of indeterminate emotion, then decided to answer Anomen's questions. "We had the scroll," he related slowly, still gathering his wits about him. "And were returning to the Five Flagons when we were set upon by a group of dark-clothed people. They attacked us, then…" He looked over at Corias. "They took the scroll the moment you were knocked unconscious."

            Harrian grimaced. "They did? I can't remember, everything just went black," he admitted, struggling to his feet with Jaheira's aid. "Bloody hell… does everyone have to put a damper on our plans? Who were these buggers, anyway?"

            "I recognised their leader," Yoshimo admitted quietly. "Though his name is unknown to me, he is regarded as one of the most dangerous 'legal' servants in Amn." He smiled as Anomen bristled at the tone the bounty hunter used for the word 'legal'. "He works for the Count Duchinov."

            "Duchinov? That man is nothing but a blackguard and a cheating, thieving liar!" Anomen declared with conviction. Everyone stared at him, and he shrugged. "My family have had some run-ins with him. He is not quite the greatest nobleman brigand in Athkatla, but he is one, and not a man to be trifled with indeed."

            "They never are, are they," Haer'Dalis murmured. "This life of ours is beginning to read like a play – full of drama and unexpected twists, not all of them amusing," he continued, brow furrowed a little.

            "Thank you. That's a helpful contribution," Harrian declared shortly, clearly more than a little irritated at the whole situation. Jaheira could tell that, were the stakes in this situation not so high, he would be ready to turn his back on everything and condemn it to the abyss. "I don't know about the rest of you, however, but I'm ready to go back to the Five Flagons and have a long, restful night if sleep before I worry how I'm going to cope with _this_ little fireball that's been dropped on my head!" he continued, raising his voice, clearly fit to crack.

            "Harrian, calm down," Anomen answered, a little dismissively. "This is something we shall handle. Duchinov is an influential man, but he has weak points, and he is most certainly one of the lesser enemies we have to face on our quest –"

            "You mean he's less powerful than a seemingly omnipotent mage, a whole legal organisation of wizards, a horde of the undead and an order of paladins?" Corias demanded, practically hopping with rage and frustration. "Oh, _that_ makes him completely irrelevant, doesn't it? Yes!" He stopped, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. "Now I am going to go and have a good, long rest. Do me a favour and see if you can spare me the trouble of thinking through this monstrosity of a situation?"

            They all stared at each other as their leader glared at them, then turned on his heel and marched off, head held high, almost shaking with anger – not at them, but at the world in general and the situation in particular.

            Jaheira frowned after his disappearing silhouette. "I shall talk to him," she decided firmly, addressing the other bewildered four. "In the meantime, I highly recommend you do as he asked and find us a way to get the scroll back without placing pressure on him."

            Yoshimo and Anomen exchanged dubious glances in their first moment of any real camaraderie. Their expressions told volumes, and they didn't need to throw the questioning glances at Jaheira they did.

            The druid rolled her eyes at them and grimaced. "I do not care how or what you find, as long as it is substantial. Anomen, you have links to the society this Duchinov lives in. Yoshimo, you have links to his less-than legal activities. _Talk_ to people, find things out. Find out something that shall help us." Their expressions didn't change. "Before Harrian loses his mind."

            "Aye, our raven seems to be standing perilously close to the edge of an abyss of insanity," Haer'Dalis contributed helpfully, and with a tone of far too much cheer than was acceptable for the relatively morbid declaration he had made.

            Jaheira glared at him. "Just… just do it," she muttered, sagging with frustration as she turned and marched the same way as their leader, leaving the other four behind, a little bewildered and irritated.

            They all stood for a moment, thinking. Then Yoshimo said: "So what do we do? We hardly have the links to get information on someone like Duchinov by ourselves, and the last of our money went towards paying Tellis."

            "Perhaps we could manipulate him into helping us? Seeing as we promised we'd pay him when we have the scroll, and we don't have the scroll?" Anomen suggested uncharacteristically, Jaheira's speech having left him a little flustered.

            Minsc turned to face them. "All this talking is wasting precious butt-kicking time! Jaheira has said that Harrian needs our help and we will give it!" the mighty warrior declared happily, then set off down the road in the same direction as the druid.

            "He talks sense, you know," Haer'Dalis assured the other two, before smiling irritatingly at them and strolling speedily off after the giant so as to catch up with the ranger, leaving the other two even more bewildered than before.

            "Unless we want the wrath of Jaheira brought down upon us, I highly recommend that we dedicate this night towards getting some answers," Yoshimo said with a slight frown, but there was an air of amusement about him.

            Anomen nodded. "The lady would doubtless not be happy if we returned before dawn," he answered gloomily. It sounded as if this was task that would require talking to the Order at best and braving his father to talk to Moira at worst. "Let us commence."


	22. A Simple Investigation

**Chapter 22: A Simple Investigation **

            "I am aware that many of my sources shall be available at this hour," Yoshimo declared as he and Anomen marched down the street, neither happy to be working together, "but am I not right in believing that your Order shall most likely be sleeping at night, and thus will be even less willing to give a squire sensitive information regarding one of the cities most influential men?"

            Anomen shrugged. "Mayhaps," he murmured idly. "But if it the politics you fear, then do not. The Order is above such things – whether Duchinov were high-ranking noble or simple serf, he would receive the same treatment from the Radiant Heart. Yet still, the Order is open at all hours to listen to those who need help. I know for a fact that Sir Ryan Trawl, the knight I was squired to, shall be at the headquarters at this hour."

            "I see," Yoshimo said levelly, his voice infuriatingly unreadable. "Where should we investigate first? Your Order, or my street friends?" he asked lightly, giving Delryn a broad and irritatingly false smile.

            Anomen sighed. He had a feeling this would be a long night.

* *

            Tellis the informant jangled the small pouch full of gold pieces as he slid into a seat at the bar of the Sea's Bounty. Business was going well, what with the three thousand he had in hand, and the other three thousand he could expect from those friends of Yoshimo down at the Five Flagons. Tomorrow he would go there, get his pay, and probably treat himself to a slightly better home than the house he was squatting in at the moment.

            But, for now, he had every intention of drinking himself stupid for the night in celebration. Celebration alone, granted, which was not as entertaining as it could be, but if he was lucky he'd stumble whilst inebriated right into the path of one of the harlots that frequented the area and throw some money the right way.

            "My friend, you really do waste your life," an all-too familiar voice declared from beside him, and he looked up in surprise to find himself stuck between Yoshimo and that cleric friend of his. A small look of panic crossed Tellis's face, and he drew his drink to him protectively.

            Anomen snorted with disgust. "Lay off, scum, we are not interested in your petty alcoholism. We simply want some questions answered and we shall be on our way," he muttered disdainfully.

            Yoshimo threw him a glance. "I shall let you do the talking when we get to the Order house, Anomen, if you let me do the talking when we are in _my_ domain for this investigation," he retorted, then looked at Tellis. "Tell us what we want to know and we'll leave you in peace," he declared.

            The informant shook his head, already a little inebriated. "Nope. No way. Not unless you give me some more money, heh heh…" He looked hopefully at the two men on either side of him. "Then I'm your man, heh."

            "No. If you don't give us any information, then you won't be getting your three thousand gold," Yoshimo informed him sourly, dearly wishing he didn't have to deal with this low-life of a man today.

            "That's not fair!" Tellis exclaimed, erupting into anger and panic.

            The bounty hunter smiled thinly. "We agreed what we would pay you when we had the scroll. The scroll was stolen from us. Help us find it again, and we can maybe add another thousand to your money?"

            "We don't –" Anomen was interrupted in his protests by Yoshimo raising a hand, and the cleric subsided unhappily.

            Tellis looked up, the greed in his eyes. "Another two thousand," he insisted forcefully. "Otherwise… no deal, otherwise I'm too cheap in my work, heh heh. Another two thousand, and we talk, heh."

            "If he does that damned chuckle again, by Helm I swear I shall beat him to death with my bare hands," Anomen muttered irritably, glaring at the informant as if he was scum crawling out of the abyss.

            Tellis considered this for a moment. "Or maybe, I just help you, for free? Still part of deal, heh –" He stopped as Anomen glared at him, and nodded. "Still part of deal. What do you want to know? Who stole this scroll?"

            Yoshimo shook his head. "Count Duchinov got his handyman to steal the scroll from us. We want everything you have on Duchinov, and as soon as possible. We don't want him to make use of the scroll before we do." _Whatever this scroll is,_ he added silently.

            Tellis shifted unhappily. "Duchinov… _very_ powerful person, you know. Very powerful. But not much information on him, I'm afraid," he answered. "All I know is that he gets this unnamed handyman, who you've met, to do his dirty work. Very fond of magical artefacts and other rare things, yes, yes… Cowled Wizards hate him. Big threat to the constraint on magic in the city."

            "We know all of this," Anomen retorted haughtily.

            Tellis thought frantically. "If you want an opportunity to get the scroll back, Duchinov is a big show-off… if he has something like this scroll, he'll be using it to impress his close circle of friends. You could get to it that way."

            "We're not in his close circle of friends," Yoshimo pointed out.

            "True," the informant replied. "But he does like the ladies. He would doubtless use it to impress someone he has his eye on. Maybe you can use that lovely lady in your party to get close to Duchinov?"

            Yoshimo and Anomen exchanged glances. "Ah, yes. Maybe," the squire responded with a frown and a small smirk, his amusement piqued by the idea, his survival instincts screaming at him to not pass the idea on.

            "The ball would be a good time for her to get close to him," Tellis assured them, suddenly on a roll, his own survival instincts assuring him that he was on the right path with these two. "I don't know when it is… but you can find out; it'll be big in the city, for sure… invitation only, though. All of these balls are."

            Yoshimo smiled. "My thanks, Tellis. Rest assured, you have been a _great_ help to us," he reassured the informant, and then looked at Anomen. "Maybe your friends in the Radiant Heart could give us a hand with the when and the how to get in."

            Tellis looked panicked. "You… you're one of those knights? Hey, you know, I have never, ever hurt anyone or let anyone get hurt in my profession… I'm a minor nobody, you know that," he declared defensively, his voice hurried and worried.

            Anomen gave him a derisive look. "Do not worry yourself, cur, the Order has far greater evils to worry about than you. Just rest assured that the Gods will deal with you when it is your time, and they do not show mercy for people such as yourself."

            "Cease scaring my informant," Yoshimo muttered as they stood up. From the shaken expression on Tellis's face, he could tell the most irritating Anomen had gotten to him. Tellis had taken so much care to avoid the law, he had stopped worrying about mightier powers dealing with him.

The bounty hunter sighed. "Let us simply proceed to your Order's headquarters, so they may tell us when Duchinov is having this ball, and maybe procure for us the means of getting to the damnable thing."


	23. One Step Forward

**Chapter 23: One Step Forwards… **

They were thrown a considerable number of suspicious glances as they entered the Order's headquarters. Anomen was looked at as if he were mad, and Yoshimo… well, the bounty hunter had never been in such an openly hostile environment. Had Delryn not been there, the thief was quite sure he would have made one step inside.

It took all of the cleric's control to ignore the looks as he desperately wished Yoshimo had waited outside as he had suggested. But the bounty hunter had been intent on coming along, most likely simply to irk him. It was working.

            They started towards Sir Ryan Trawl, who was deep in discussion with Keldorn just off the main hall, and Anomen felt his heart begin to sink. This was bad. This was very bad. Most likely Keldorn was reporting to Ryan, and thus he would know all of Anomen's affiliation with his iniquitous group.

            Sir Ryan's face lit up as he saw his squire, however, and he gave Yoshimo no second look. "Anomen! You have spent far too long away from the Order, young squire. But from what Sir Keldorn here is telling me, you have been doing quite well for yourself in your absence."

            Yoshimo resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Anomen veritably beamed with pride. "I thank thee, Sir Ryan," the squire responded happily. "However, much as it pains me, this is not quite a social call. There is a grave matter that my party has had to deal with for which I could use your assistance."

            "Of course," his mentor responded brightly. "If there is any assistance you require, we shall attempt to give it to the best of our abilities." He ignored the dubious look the Kara-Turan threw him.

            Delryn grew a little more nervous as he considered how to proceed. Duchinov, despite lacking in morals, _was_ a nobleman of the city, and implicating him in a theft, however definite they were, could have vicious consequences. "It is in regard to the Count Duchinov… the merchant?"

            Keldorn's face lit up, and Anomen became increasingly confused as to the Inquisitor's intentions with the surveillance job he was performing as he spoke. "Ah yes, Duchinov… he is having a ball the day after tomorrow, is he not?"

            Yoshimo raised an eyebrow, mildly amused by the paladin's actions as his intents became even more cloudy. "That is one of the matters we wished to find out about, yes," he responded levelly, smiling a little tightly.

            Trawl grinned, and shook his head. "Squire Anomen, the rumours told me that you were on a quest of great proportions, and you are concerning yourself with the social occasion which is the most talked about in Athkatla?"

            Firecam smiled about as tightly as Yoshimo had, and shrugged. "I believe our young friend has his reasons," he answered sharply, then turned to Trawl. "Permit me to have a word with your squire, Ryan… I think I can be of some help to his cause."

            Anomen's superior raised an eyebrow, but nodded and headed back towards the main hall as Keldorn turned to the other two. "It… ah, it may not have been such a good idea for you to bring your friend along," the Inquisitor told Delryn, gesturing at Yoshimo.

            "I said as much," Anomen replied dryly. "He never listens to me." At this, the bounty hunter grinned broadly, and gave a small half-bow, having decided now to keep a bit quieter in this horde of the forces of righteousness. "But why are you willing to help us?"

            The Inquisitor met his gaze evenly. "I am not your enemy, Anomen. I am not even the enemy of that Bhaalspawn whose company you remain in, for as long as he walks a righteous path. And, as he is walking a righteous path, I feel it is my duty to lend you assistance.

"I know of your expedition into the Cowled Wizards headquarters," Keldorn continued, and the colour drained from Anomen's face. "Do not worry yourself, Squire Delryn, I am of the opinion that those mages interfere far too much in the affairs of others and a small set-back to their conniving plans is so much the better."

            "Ah… good," the squire sighed, recovering a little. "Then you know of what has befallen our party concerning the Count Duchinov?" he continued, hoping that Keldorn could solve their problem, because the remaining option was to go to the Delryn Estate and see what Lord Cor had to help them.

            "I do. That man has always been trouble in this city, and if evidence of his illegal activities are found I shall do my best to bring him before the courts," Keldorn muttered, a little bitterly. "If you wish to retrieve your property, you would do well to use his ball as a starting point. Alas, as you know, it is invitation only…" Firecam's voice grew more considerate. "If you are truly desperate to pursue this course of action, your father received an invitation. I doubt he would have an intention of going, so you could make use of it."

            Anomen's face sank. "I suspected as much," he spat, grimacing. "The Gods seem to revel in torturing me with this damnable quest I have embarked on," he continued in a mutter, glaring at Yoshimo.

            The bounty hunter met his gaze steadily. "It does not seem too much torture," he commented. "Your estate is in the Government District; 'tis but a short walk. All we need is some simple assistance from your family."

            "I would rather tight-rope walk across the _abyss_ than go to my father for help!" Delryn snapped back irately.

* *

            "Your virulence knows no bounds, brigand," Anomen muttered to Yoshimo as the two of them approached the Delryn Estate. The Kara-Turan had made short work of the squire's excuses, throwing in a generous number  of reminders of Jaheira's lack of patience, but he truly did not understand the dilemma he had placed the cleric in.

            "This shall be a simple matter," the bounty hunter responded. "And I grow weary of your whining, priest. Show a little backbone; all you are doing is going to visit your family. Not even you could perform a sin to distance yourself from your own blood."

            Anomen didn't answer, simply shrugged sulkily. "He shall not let us in; of that I guarantee you," he muttered angrily, shaking his head at how ridiculous this situation was, trying to hide the full extent of how unwilling he was to get involved in the upcoming, inevitable confrontation.

            "Would you wish to go back to Jaheira and inform her that there _was_ a chance we could gain access to the ball, but we did not investigate it because you did not want to?" Yoshimo demanded irately. "I shall ensure she knows the full truth if we do."

            "I would rather face a thousand angry Jaheiras than confront my father at any time. He is sure to be drunk at this hour," Delryn responded gloomily, the significance of such an observation flying over Yoshimo's head.

            "Then that will make everything so much easier," the bounty hunter attempted to reassure him, not wondering to any great extent why the squire was so worried about this encounter with his father. Western family culture was not one he was fully aware of, but he doubted it was anything that warranted such a display of nerves.

            The guard at the doors was wearing a battered suit of armour, looking as if it had been pieced together with a sheet of metal, a fist, and nothing else. He was leaning heavily upon his dull halberd, and only gave them a cursory glance as the two of them approached the doors.

            "Lord Anomen," he greeted Delryn quietly, yet respectfully, although there was a slight slurring to his words. Yoshimo believed it was fatigue. Anomen feared it was alcohol. "You are, as always, welcome, though I do not believe Lord Cor is in much of a state to see you at this hour."

            "As it always was," the cleric responded bitterly, frowning deeply. "Is he awake?" The guard shook his head, and Anomen nodded thoughtfully, his face lighting up as if a great weight had been removed from his shoulders. "Is my sister in?"

            The guard nodded this time. "Aye, the Lady Moira is indeed. I believe she would be very happy to see you, Lord Anomen. Her father seems to have kept her in most of the past month." The servant shifted a little uncomfortably, then his voice dropped. "He has been more than a little tyrannical in his regime, if you'll forgive me for saying so, sir."

            "You know that there is not a word against my father you can utter which shall offend me," Delryn responded firmly, pushing the doors to his estate open and stepping inside. Yoshimo noted how tense he was, a sort of fight-or-flight stance, and his pace was tentative, preparing to flee if necessary.

            As the thief had expected, his comrade's home was large and stately, and out of habit he found himself cataloguing the various valuables, pricing them and mentally noting which fence would make the best use of them. Realising that Anomen's eye was on him, clearly aware of what he was doing, he pasted an impassive look on his face and started to try and work out what had the squire so fearful.

            He noticed it almost immediately as they passed the sitting area and he spotted the man sprawled, unconscious, on the couch. The jaw line and shape of the face made the family resemblance between him and Anomen quite clear, and the stench of alcohol – accompanied by the empty bottles that lay underneath the _chaise longue_ – made it quite clear what Anomen had to fear from his father.

            Their movement out of Lord Cor's immediate vicinity was swift and silent, for, upon realising what this situation was, Yoshimo was as unwilling as Anomen to bring the hells of an alcoholic father upon them.

            Delryn turned to face Yoshimo as they waited in the hallway, at the foot of the staircase to the upper levels. "You see now?" he hissed, seeing comprehension in the bounty hunter's eyes. "You see now why I did not want to come here? If he were awake…" He repressed a shudder, and looked away.

            Yoshimo felt a small amount of pity for the man, then suppressed it as he realised how Anomen would take such an unwanted sentiment. "Your sister… could she also help us with this invitation your family was rumoured to have received."

            He nodded. "That is why I asked if she were present. No doubt the ball would interest her more than my father." _Any escape from the brigand's house would be seen as most fortuitous, though it is doubtful he'd let her leave without his being there… and he would not want to set foot upon Duchinov's estate. _Though not as hated by his family as Saerk Farrahd, Duchinov's competition in the market had not made him appreciated by the Delryns.

            "Anomen!" His name was uttered in a delighted yet hushed whisper, and the two of them turned to see a young woman – more a girl, really, probably not yet twenty – rushing down to meet them. Yoshimo assumed it was his sister, which was confirmed at the warm embrace they then shared. It was quite clear that, in their father's tyranny, they had united to form a very special and close sibling bond.

            "Moira!" her brother exclaimed in a similar tone, then the beam on his face died and his expression became regretful as they pulled apart. "I'm sorry I could not see you sooner… but I know father would not allow me to come here, and my work has hardly given me a moment's rest in the past few months."

            A small excuse, the bounty hunter realised. Concealing the fact that his father was the true reason, diminishing how much the old man commanded him. Moira would clearly know of Lord Cor's effect on her brother, so the Kara-Turan presumed it was for his benefit.

            She gave him a questioning glance, and Anomen turned apologetically. "Ah, forgive my rudeness, sister. This is Yoshimo, one of my comrades and a member of the party that I have joined on my current quest."

            Yoshimo bowed deeply, flashing her a quick smile and a look that would make Anomen bristle. "A pleasure to meet you, fair lady," he murmured respectfully, choosing at the last second to not irk the cleric by kissing his sister's hand. He was clearly under enough stress as it was.

            She met his gaze evenly and gave him a smile of her own. "The pleasure is all mine, Yoshimo-san." His delighted expression at her acknowledgement of his culture was swept under the carpet smoothly, but still acknowledged by her. Moira then turned to Anomen. "So tell me, brother, what has brought you here?"

            He quickly recounted their quest and what had befallen them, leaving out a few odds and ends – Keldorn's intervention, their involvement in the Skinner Murderer, playing down Bodhi. "So you see, sister," he finished quietly, "we would be most indebted to you if you could help us."

            "Ah, so you came out of business rather than a desire to seem me?" Moira asked, though Yoshimo noticed the playful expression on her face, and reasoned that the family's sense of humour must have all gone to her.

            Anomen looked mortified. "Moira, if I had known that I could see you this easily, I would have been here every day!" he declared, with touching conviction. "But you know what happened the last time I passed by…"

            They nodded quietly, both lost in their own memories of what had clearly been a dark day. Yoshimo decided to leave them to it for the moment, until Moira broke the silence. "I… I shall go find the invitation, brother. Father had no desire to go; he will not even know that I have given it to you." With that, she turned and hurried up the stairs.

            Neither of the two men spoke – Anomen merely glowered at Yoshimo, who ignored his glares entirely as they waited – until she returned. The scroll, which had the broken seal of Duchinov's house on it and was now bounded by a red ribbon, was handed to Anomen silently.

            "I thank –"

            He stopped his gratitude as a grunt from the room behind them, where Lord Cor had been slumbering, was heard, and a look of barely-controlled fear crossed his face for a fraction of a second.

            "You should leave," Moira hissed, and her brother clearly agreed, though the reluctance to do so was written all over his face.

            "Once this quest is complete, I should have proven my worthiness for knighthood," Anomen whispered in reply. "Then I will have the power and the resources to take you away from this place, away from _him_."

            "Moira? Who's there?" a voice from the sitting area bellowed, and Yoshimo presumed it was Lord Cor's from the expressions of both siblings. 

            _Go_, she mouthed at them both, then swept past and into the sitting area. As Yoshimo yanked a reluctant Anomen towards the back door, he could hear her assuring Lord Cor that there was nobody, and he had simply imagined it.


	24. Two Steps Back

**Chapter 24: …Two Steps Back**

            Harrian looked at the scroll in front of him which Anomen and Yoshimo had delivered, along with a brief outline of their plan, before going to their separate rooms and falling into the same deep, exhausted sleep. Jaheira – for it was clear Jaheira had told them to do this – had plainly motivated them well, because this put them in a prime position to get back on track.

            But Corias felt none of the relief he knew he should. There was still that burning tension within him, the frustration he had felt since drifting out of unconsciousness. An intense feeling of uselessness and, somewhere inside there, fear. But he would never admit the reason, not even to himself.

            There was a knock on the door, and Harrian ignored it. He wanted to be left to his own thoughts for now. Jaheira had come by earlier, in an attempt to get him to talk about his problems, but he had sent her away, perhaps a little too harshly… but he was in no mood or mind to talk.

            But the door opened anyway, and the druid stepped in. She didn't say a word, merely walked up to him and read the scroll resting on the table he was standing at over his shoulder. "So this is our solution?" she asked quietly. "Hope that Duchinov places the scroll in an attainable place so we can easily find and retrieve it at this ball?"

            "That is the gist of it, yes," Harrian answered. A few hours ago he might have been amused by the suggestion Yoshimo had falteringly mentioned that Tellis had made. Now he could conjure up no such emotion.

            "You believe it will not work?" Jaheira asked lightly, looking at him. He had not shaken the mood all night, and it was now four of the morning. "You do not believe going to this ball will achieve anything?"

            "I don't know," he confessed, still not looking at her as he shrugged. "I know I believe that this will, ultimately, not change things. I keep on feeling that we are doomed to fail in this quest; that it is all in vain," he mumbled, stepping back and staring out the window.

            Surprising himself, he felt no desire to pull away as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You fear for Imoen," Jaheira murmured, stepping up behind him, her voice taking on a sympathetic edge he didn't want to hear.

            But he found himself opening up to her, now she had hit right on the point of his worries. "I… I just want to know if she's alright," he whispered, shaking his head. "And I can't know that. I have no way of finding out, just like I have no way of getting her back."

            "We're working on it," the druid reminded him quietly. "Here are the means to finding her," she continued, gesturing at the scroll on the desk.

            He snorted. "Pah! All we have is an invitation to a ball which we may or may not be allowed into anyway, where we may or may not find the scroll, which may or may not be of any value whatsoever and may or may not be a _nudge_ in the right direction to finding Imoen! I'm sorry, Jaheira, but that's really not good enough for me!" he raved.

            She looked at him, and for a moment considered leaving him to his own misery, but then, realising he could do anything in his volatile mood, decided to stay, for his well-being. "You're doing everything you can."

            "No, everything I can is taking the Shadow Thieves up on their offer," Harrian pointed out dully. "But I'm not going to do that… they cheated me and left me for dead when I did a job for them; I'm not running the risk of that again. I'll be no help to Imoen dead. I'm not going to do that, even if it would be more progressive than pursuing this scroll nonsense."

            Jaheira looked quizzically at him. "Not even for Imoen?" she asked quietly, then instantly regretted the question, knowing how much more inner turmoil that would give him, when he needed as little as possible.

            "I don't know, damn it!" he huffed, sitting down on the bed. "Gods, if I knew what I was supposed to do, what was _right_, then I'd do it, no matter what it required. But _this_… it just feels like it's getting us absolutely nowhere; that we're bringing the anger of the city down upon us to no avail. And I feel, I _know_ that working for the Shadow Thieves is not right."

            She picked up the invitation. "Anomen and Yoshimo appear to have come up with a suitable plan. Whatever this scroll is, the Cowled Wizards want it. A bargain, the scroll for Imoen, and then we worry about Irenicus later."

            "You've changed your tack," Harrian observed quietly, then sighed. "I don't know if I care about Irenicus any more. I just always get this horrible feeling that I'm going to fail, that I'm never going to see Imoen again, because… it's like, one step forwards, two steps back. It started off about the Cowled Wizards, then it became the Cowled Wizards and Bodhi, then the Cowled Wizards, Bodhi and the scroll, _now_ the Cowled Wizards, Bodhi, the scroll, and Duchinov. The world is piled against us."

            "We've faced worse before," Jaheira reminded him lightly, sitting down next to him. "And you know that we just have to push through before things will work. That is the way of things. It's not as if we are faced with a dead-end – there is a path before us, a plan to follow." 

 "Did they tell you exactly what the plan was, however?" he answered , deciding he was the best person to let Jaheira know what she was going to have to do.

            She looked suspiciously at him, the ability to read him like a book which she had developed over the years. "No…" the druid replied, half closing one eye as she glared at him. "I take it you are going to tell me."

            If he didn't feel like this, he'd have been amused by the whole situation. "They spoke to Tellis," Harrian mused. "He told them that Duchinov is highly ambitious, and likes to show off his luxuries and valuables. His close friends often get a chance to see them so he can prove his superiority… and he is particularly fond of using them to impress the ladies he has his eyes on."

            "If you are asking me to do what I think you are, then the answer is no. Not for anything," Jaheira responded firmly. "I refuse to act like a harlot so you can get this scroll. Do you think I have no principles?"

            "I'm not asking you to do anything like that!" he exclaimed with conviction, a shocked expression on his face. "I'd never ask you to do that! I just want you to feign an interest in him, get him to show you where the scroll is… Nothing more, I promise!"

            "There are other ways," Jaheira assured him positively. "And besides, what's to make you so sure it'll work? If we go to this ball, then there are sure to be hundreds of women, all out with the same goal as me… without the scroll-stealing. Who says he shall set his sights on me?"

            "How couldn't he?" Harrian replied, his face lighting up, giving her the lopsided smile that showed he was joking. "You could go in with no fancy party dress and all that and still outshine the others there looking for a rich bugger to shimmy up with!"

            "I'll take that as a compliment," the druid answered dryly.

            "Oh, you should," he continued, still with the amused look on his face as he swept around her. "We'll spend whatever money left on the high-class treatment all of these girls that frequent these dreary social occasions, and Duchinov will be completely unable to resist you."

            Jaheira decided to tolerate him, as he was being far more upbeat at the moment. "You are saying I need all of that expensive treatment before I can attract the Count?" she retorted lightly.

            "Of course not. You look beautiful enough as it is," Harrian declared with conviction, then the smile died on his face as he froze, regarding her cautiously as the final words escaped from his lips before he could stop them.

             There was a long silence as they regarded each other. Then Jaheira turned away. "I still believe this will not work," she said, her controlled mask already slipped over her face as she stood, unable to meet his eyes.

            "I mean it, you know," he answered, his voice low as he stared at the back of her head. "You are –"

            "_Don't_," she hissed, turning to face him. "By Silvanus, do _not_ finish that sentence." There was an edge to her voice that Harrian had never heard turned on him, and the full implications of what he was doing hit him like a sack of bricks.

            "Okay," he murmured numbly, then stepped beside her. "Still, with Duchinov, it's worth a try. What do you have to lose? This is our first chance; we'll all be there… at worst, it's a reconnaissance mission."

            She paused for a long moment. "Very well," Jaheira agreed stiffly, then turned. "I had better go. If the situation is as it is, then we will all be needing sleep to confront the coming days." She didn't look back as she started towards the door, and very soon Harrian was left in the room on his own.

            "Idiot, idiot, _idiot_," he muttered, kicking his pack over, then raised his eyes skyward. "Forgive me, old friend, for what I have done. You know I mean no disrespect. As I promised, I am here to watch over your wife, and I shall not overstep the bounds of my promise," he murmured, then sank down onto the bed, wondering if Khalid would strike him down where he sat for his impetuousness. "Wouldn't bloody blame him." 


	25. Calm Before the Storm

**Chapter 25: Calm Before the Storm**

            The party had given up on all attempts to develop a regular sleeping pattern. Or, at least, a regular sleeping pattern that revolved around the day, for all of their activities had been nocturnal. They were turning into veritable creatures of the night.

            Which is why Harrian, who was himself cursed with a need of a solid eight or nine hours of sleep each rest, found only Haer'Dalis sitting himself down for lunch at the main counter with Samuel Thunderburp, the halfling bartender. The tiefling seemed to need no sleep at all, and was clearly quite comfortable in operating at half strength as it was.

            It was early in the afternoon, and Corias had awoken much the same time as the day before. Yoshimo and Anomen were taking some much deserved rest after the prior night's endeavours and Jaheira was, no doubt, brooding in her own room. Minsc's whereabouts revealed themselves to be 'out shopping for biscuits for Boo' when Haer'Dalis was asked.

            "I don't suppose you do a full breakfast?" Harrian asked Thunderburp hopefully. "Although I feel like I need it, now is not quite the hour to be partaking in your vast collection of international alcohol."

            "Well, it's lunchtime, so the cook might not take too well to being asked for a breakfast," the halfling replied helpfully, polishing a glass. "But how about we cook you up the day's special, as a bit of a pick-me-up?"

            "What _is_ the day's special?" Harrian asked suspiciously. He had never consumed Thunderburp's secret cuisine himself, and the reports he had heard of the specials were _very_ mixed.

            "Oh, I can't be telling you _that_," Samuel declared cheerfully. "Not knowing and finding out for yourself is all part of the special being special!" He grinned at Corias' evil expression. "Fear not, friend, I do not serve you rubbish."

            "You'd better not," Harrian muttered as the halfling scurried off. He turned to Haer'Dalis. "So, my melodious friend, what thoughts do you have to brighten up my day?" he asked him gloomily.

            "Would the fact that Minsc has left with all of the money on his quest brighten your day?" the blade asked cheerfully, then his expression brightened even more at Harrian's evil yet surprised look. "Fear not, my raven, I am jesting with thee. Minsc _has_ been gone a little longer than expected, considering he is on a quest for biscuits, yet I have no worries of our hound being incapable of defending himself in perilous times."

            "Aye," Harrian murmured, clearly unconcerned about Minsc. Anyone who brought trouble to the ranger would get what they deserved. "Have Anomen and Yoshimo told you of our plan to get the scroll back?"

            The tiefling nodded. "They have, and it brightened my day to hear of such a ploy. Using our lady Jaheira as bait for this Duchinov should prove fruitful. But be aware, Harrian, that there will be many ladies at this ball with their sights set for the Count. There may be competition for his favours which our druid will have to fend off," he warned him in his slightly sing-song voice, all the while his cheerful expression not leaving his face.

            "Bah, with little trouble, I'm sure," Harrian retorted confidently as Thunderburp, now returned from issuing the cooking orders, set a pitcher of weak grog on the counter. It would not do to get drunk this early in the afternoon. He took a large gulp from it to hide the slight heat rushing to his face as memories of his indiscretions the other night surfaced.

            But Haer'Dalis was an actor, and as such knew one when he saw one, especially when they were as furtive as Corias. "My raven, your appreciation for the lady has not gone unnoticed, neither by myself or her."

            "Oh, I _know_ she has a vague idea," Harrian muttered grimly to himself. "And I do believe, dear Haer'Dalis, that this appreciation is more of a problem than you are aware of," he continued, throwing him a warning glance.

            This was the expression the damnable bard ignored. "For her favours are still with her departed husband, aye," he murmured. "I see that advising you to take care is most pointless, for either you know so and are doing so, or will disregard any advice I offer."

            "A little of both," the swashbuckler assured him. "Khalid was my friend – he was a good friend, damn it. I won't soil his memory by courting his wife, even if she _would_ return the affections. Which she won't."

            "Do not be so sure, my raven," Haer'Dalis mused. "I have oft seen the way she looks at you. It is the look of one who feels something they are unsure of, but do not wish to explore it further due to believing it sinful, or at the very least, dangerous. Know that 'tis not as disrespectful or unexpected as you may think for two friends to find solace in each other in the midst of sorrow."

            "I'm not looking for _solace_," Harrian spat back a little venomously. Then he stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "Indeed, I am looking for nothing. I overstepped my mark last night, and I do not intend to do so. Jaheira is my friend, she is in the middle of grief, and my promise to her husband was to protect her, not to woo her. My word is my bond, tiefling."

            Haer'Dalis smiled. "I never meant to insinuate it was not," he replied to the slightly bitter retort. "But it is quite clear to me that it is not impossible to woo someone at the same time as protecting her. Indeed, they may come hand in hand."

            "Who's hand in hand?" Yoshimo asked lightly as he slid into the chair next to them, with all the subtlety that being a thief required. Harrian threw him a mortified look, and Haer'Dalis merely grinned toothily. The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow. "Or is this a conversation I should leave you two ladies to conduct by yourselves?"

            "We… were discussing the plan for tomorrow night," Harrian declared in a rush, and Yoshimo gave him a suspicious glance. "Duchinov and Jaheira. Haer'Dalis believes it will take some effort for it to work, but I disagree."

            The Kara-Turan gave his own broad smile. "Of course," he chuckled, and Corias rolled his eyes. "I agree with you," he continued, making Harrian's expression turn first to relief, then to surprise, then threatening.

            "You do?" Haer'Dalis asked, positively delighted with this situation. "You agree with our raven's belief that Jaheira is a lady of such beauty that none of the others at this ball will be able to hold a candle to her?"

            Yoshimo looked a little taken aback. "Of sorts," he said slowly. "The party season in Athkatla is over. Any ladies left behind without a husband at this time of year shall not be, ah, 'prime pickings'. Jaheira should have no trouble seeing them off, especially after receiving the treatment these young noblewomen get before such a social occasion."

            Harrian looked at Haer'Dalis happily. "I knew that," he declared firmly, then sagged at the tiefling's expression of disbelief.

            Yoshimo kept his face neutral. "So Jaheira's job is to seduce Duchinov. What are the rest of us to do during this potentially lengthy period?"

            "Seduce Duchinov?" Corias repeated, looking horrified. "No, no, _no_. There shall be no seducing of Duchinov. Attracting, flirting with, manipulating until he gets us where we want him, but not _actual_, full-scale seduction." The others looked blankly at him, and he sighed once more. "As for the rest of us… we'll be there. Mingle. Make nuisances of ourselves. Be close at hand if needed." _Ensure Duchinov doesn't get out of hand with Jaheira, and be quick to offer a sound beating if he does,_ he added grimly.

            "So we would do well today to do a spot of shopping?" Haer'Dalis asked lightly. "A little camouflage before we turn up at a civilised ball with our dashingly handsome yet dishevelled and unsophisticated leader." Harrian looked indignant, then made a spirited attempt to straighten his hair. The blade smiled at him before continuing. "Not to mention a giant, bald, mentally impaired ranger who is more suited to a plate of armour than a fine suit; a Kara-Turan bounty hunter who would be more willing to pick pockets than pick dance partners; and an arrogant and over-pious cleric who will mostly bore all around him to their deaths with tales of his exploits."

            "Not to mention a tiefling blade of harmful wit and a tendency to draw attention to himself," Anomen interjected coolly as he approached, clearly far too fatigued to place too much venom into his insult. "And I should only be so lucky if my tales are as dire as you say, for then I would be able to recount them and fell you with no fear of retribution."

            "Fair play, my squire," Haer'Dalis accepted good-naturedly. "But I believe the point is made. It shall take a considerable amount of work and skill for us to remain inconspicuous with this _entourage_ of ours."

            Harrian pulled his purse from out of his inside pocket and shook it experimentally. The clinking from within was despairingly faint. "It seems to me as if we are without the money to back up such a requirement. It sounds like we need the finest of tailors in Athkatla; with the few silvers we have, I would be astounded if we could buy even a dirty vest. Our funds are low."


	26. Wherefore Art Thou'

_Author's note: No, I'm not going off on another tangent - this is a one-off delay whilst I can make them having this money plausible. It's also a light diversion from the main theme, a little bit of expansion on my main sub-plot, and it's setting the scene for a few things in the future. Expect to see more from this bardic endeavour later on.  
As another note, some people have commented how I do not focus on the sub-quests of the game enough. But all in good time! My main ideas require Imoen to be along for the ride, and I'd rather not write all the way through Brynn Law and the Underdark before I can take off, as well as depriving myself of Yoshimo early on (yet fear not, I'm not going to mess around in Athkatla and Amn for the entire story!). So once this mess with scrolls and Cowled Wizards is sorted, expect a few lighter quests for this bunch to play around in._

**Chapter 26: "Wherefore Art Thou?"**

            It was late afternoon by the time Jaheira managed to drag herself from her room, having only managed about three hours sleep in over twelve hours. Damn that thief! How could he leave her with such inner turmoil with just a handful of misplaced words?

            Because she was convinced they were misplaced, misinterpreted… whatever it took to reveal that he didn't mean what he had said; or not with the depth she had seen them. All he had been doing was offering a bit of moral support for what was to happen the following evening, and she had overreacted, misunderstood, and most certainly left him a little confused as to why she had lashed out like she did.

            Jaheira refused to allow herself to consider why she had, for that opened a door leading to a corridor she did not want to walk down. Why she had reacted so badly to Harrian's compliments, why she had leapt to conclusions at the reason for them. Why _had_ she been so quick to not recognise them as support for the next evening (because that was what it had been. So certainly.)

            _You_ wanted _it to be a personal compliment. And it was. You know it was. You're just fooling yourself by thinking this way. I'm sure he's down there right now, confused, worried, and apologetic, all because he stepped over his line into a realm both of you are afraid of going…_

            The druid stopped her train of thought, silently berating herself, as she emerged in the tavern area of the Five Flagons. Much to her surprise, none of them were in sight. Their usual table was abandoned… but they would not have left without telling her, or at least leaving a note, or the like?

            Thunderburp noticed her brief, controlled bewilderment, and waved a hand at her. She headed towards him, the mask of control slipping back over his face, and the halfling shifted uncomfortably under the piercing gaze, focusing on cleaning the pint glass until she reached him.

            "Ah… you're friends, they're down below in the theatre house," he told her uncomfortably, setting the glass down and reaching for another one. He could practically _hear_ the raising of her eyebrows. "Well, you see…" Samuel wondered mildly why he was so worried about telling her. "They were complaining of how they were a bit short of money, so I suggested, quite simply, that they get some work…"

            "In the theatre house?" Jaheira asked blankly. _Gods, what wondrous mess has Harrian got us into this time, _she mused, then her expression grew dark as she considered the input Haer'Dalis had to have had in the matter.

            "There's a new troubadour company here," Thunderburp assured her brightly. "Only their playwright sort of… fled at the sight of the Mephit bodies down there, so they've been a little deprived ever since. Yon Haer'Dalis has offered his services to them."

            Jaheira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I did not know we were so desperate for funds, or they so desperate for a playwright," she muttered, before stalking towards the stairs. She had considered many messes that they could have found themselves in without her guidance, but this had to be, surely, the most bizarre.

            The only people in sight were the five of them, Minsc having returned from his quest for biscuits, and they were seated on upturned boxes around a table in the corner. The odd sounds coming from behind the stage seemed to suggest that their employers were doing… whatever it was actors did whilst they weren't acting.

            Harrian had none of the apologetic confusion on his face she had anticipated. Indeed, he looked quite happier than he had the previous night, laughing as Haer'Dalis read something from a piece of paper. Next to him, Anomen was groaning, quite theatrically, and it did not sound as their bard's tastes in playwriting appealed to the group.

            He didn't notice her as he plucked the piece of paper from the tiefling's hand and swept to his feet. "My friend, you seem to be far too fond of the flair for the dramatic and romantic with this piece of yours… I mean, really…"

            He waved a hand dramatically as he started to read, and Yoshimo sniggered a little, none of them clearly impressed with Haer'Dalis's handiwork. "Listen… 'And lo, if ever there were a beauty in this land that could compare to yours, my dearest Lijuet, then I am sure that the world would burst with the weight of too much loveliness, just as my heart does when I set eyes upon thy face…'"

            There was a cough from behind them, and, still reading, Harrian turned to see Jaheira standing there, one eyebrow raised, mouth twisted in a wry and mildly amused smile at their antics.

            He started for a second, before continuing smoothly. "'…Yet do not think me too forward when I say these words, my lady, for as thou knowest, my heart beats true, and I am here standing by you for all time, be it you return my affections or not…'" Harrian, who had not yet read this far and had not anticipated Jaheira's arrival, turned and glared at Haer'Dalis. "I mean, this Emoro character doesn't strike me as a gentleman, he strikes me as trying to get Lijuet into bed with his words. He's far too lyrical for the salt of the earth guy he's supposed to be."

            The tiefling rolled his eyes. "This is the theatre, my raven, it merely offers an interpretation of emotions, not a direct transition of real life to the stage. I do not believe that it would sound particularly dramatic if Emoro were to say…" The bard cleared his throat before continuing, "I don't know, something along the lines of ''ey up, love, you're a pretty one. Up for a bit of slap and tickle? 'Course not, but remember I'm going to be 'ere if the fancy takes ya'. This would get us booed off the stage!"

            Despite herself, Jaheira chuckled as she pulled up a spare box. "Fear not the influence of these uncultured cretins, bard, your creative ambitions have not gone unappreciated," she half-lied, mostly wanting to see Harrian's reaction. "So what does this play consist of?"

            Haer'Dalis smiled, but Yoshimo got the first word in. "It is called 'Emoro and Lijuet', a quite turgid love story and romance with the most unpalatable of premises that I have ever seen," he replied distastefully, and Anomen murmured his agreement.

            Minsc shook his head. "I disagree. It is a fine story of a hero, and his love for a heroine as he goes on a quest of righteous butt-kicking for vengeance!" Boo squeaked, and the ranger looked proud. "Boo thinks so too."

            "Then it must be true," Harrian muttered under his breath, then winced as Jaheira stamped on his foot.

            Haer'Dalis rolled his eyes. "Do not listen to these boors, my lady, they have no appreciation for real artistic talent. It is indeed a love story… Emoro and Lijuet are close friends and travelling companions, but early in the play Lijuet's lover is slain. Emoro promises to protect his friend, for her lover was a close companion of his, but as the play goes on, their quest to avenge the death brings them closer than either of them had anticipated or wished." The bard's eyes lit up. "It is the ultimate tale of forbidden love and a struggle with emotions, the very height of theatre."

            "You see? An unbelievable piece of garbage," Harrian finished with conviction, though he looked as if he was happy to kill the bard. "I don't agree with this Emoro person. He's constantly throwing compliments at Lijuet, and is about as subtle as a boar in potions shop. She _has_ to be fully aware of his feelings, yet… makes no move to either reciprocate if she shares them, or to tell him to go to the hells if she doesn't!"

            "My raven, that is what love is like!" Haer'Dalis exclaimed. "Powerful, unknown, mysterious. If she knew what her feelings were, then it would be clear cut! But Lijuet _feels_ something for Emoro, she just does not know what, and does not wish to betray the memory of her former lover by acting on it!"

            Anomen leant forwards, interrupting the debate, and asked the question on everyone's mind. "Out of interest, bard, how did you find yourself with this deal? One moment we were on a quest for gold, the next you spring upon us this job – a well paying one, true – which seems to require very little effort?"

            Haer'Dalis shrugged. "Master Thunderburp recommended me to the new actor group here. They are paying a most handsome sum – two thousand gold pieces – for a first draft of the play, the beginnings of which they already had, to be completed by lunchtime tomorrow. Ten percent of the profits from the performance also lands itself in our pockets."

            "A first draft by tomorrow? That sounds a little hefty, even at the rate you have been rattling off incoherent nonsense," Yoshimo commented dryly. "And besides, are you sure they appreciate your work?"

            "I am already two of four acts through the piece," declared Haer'Dalis, much to everyone's surprise. "Much of the work was already done; I merely needed to polish the storyline and complete some of the lines. The plot, they are aware of, and that is all you philistines have a problem with, true?"

            "I believe the vote is a tie," Jaheira pointed out, shaking her head. These people never ceased to amaze her. They had overcome their funds problem for the moment, without being forced to clear out a nest of Beholders, or the like. And at the same time, she wouldn't forget the expression on Harrian's face as he read those lines to her.

            She sighed to herself. Things had just got a lot more complicated.****


	27. A Touch of Class

**Chapter 27: A Touch of Class**

            Their shopping plans had been delayed somewhat. Harrian had hoped to get it done that day, so it was something out of the way and they could concern themselves with the more particular matters of the plan.

            But things had not been so. Haer'Dalis had been hard-pressed to tidy his endeavour up sufficiently before the required time so that they could get the gold they needed, and as his creative inspiration could come in useful (not to mention the money), they had been forced to wait for him.

            So it was early afternoon the following day before they could split into groups and get their acts together with the clothing, then the rest of the day was supposed to be covered with Anomen briefing them on courtly etiquette for the ball. As Yoshimo pointed out, this showed how pushed for resources and information they were.

            The clothes quest had been bordering on disaster. Haer'Dalis, being an actor, had not been short of elaborate clothing, and so had been sent with Jaheira to help turn her into the temptress they needed for the night. Anomen was similarly already with the necessary dressing, and so supervised Minsc, Harrian and Yoshimo on what they would need.

            Things had got off to a bad start when Corias had assured him, point blank, that stockings and ruffles were out of the question. Yoshimo had, much to the consternation of both thief and cleric, argued his way into a traditional Kara-Turan garb, free of ruffles and stockings.

            Minsc had agreed to go along with anything as long as Boo didn't complain, and as the hamster seemed to have nothing against ruffles or stockings, the only issue was finding him a suit that was in his size.

            Finally, Anomen had coerced Harrian into clothes minus ruffles, stockings, but at the expense of a hat with a feather in it. Despite his complaints of 'Looks like I've got a bloody pheasant stuck on my head', he accepted the sacrifice with minimal protest.

            It was six of the evening by the time they were preparing to depart, Anomen having somehow managed to make use of his family's coach. With the ball starting at seven and Delryn assuring them that a late entry would be all the more dramatic, nobody was in any particular hurry save Haer'Dalis.

            Anomen had for once brought himself into Haer'Dalis's favour by being the first of the others to be ready, and had thus been conscripted into the duty of making sure Jaheira was ready. At the squire's quite panicky attempt to avoid it, Yoshimo, who had been present at the time and attempting to prove a katana was a part of traditional garb, had declared with frustration "Gods, man, you're a cleric! I'm sure even you will be capable of doing the task, and I doubt Jaheira will label you lecherous for doing so!"

            Delryn, peeved by the bounty hunter's words, had left in a huff. There were no guarantees he was doing what the bard had tried to force him to do, but at the very least, he was out of the way for the moment.

            After confirming with Yoshimo that, no matter what the tradition in Kara-Tura might be, there was no way of getting away with having a katana at a ball and if he insisted on a weapon, a knife might be quite acceptable, but _hidden_ unless needed, Haer'Dalis had moved onto the party's big problem: Their leader.

            Much to his amazement, when he arrived in Harrian's room, the thief was already dressed. The tiefling sighed with disappointment as he noted the black garb, but, after the tales Anomen had told him of attempting to get Corias to agree to _any_ extravagant clothing, this was a small price to pay.

            "My raven, you are ready. This is a most unexpected delight," Haer'Dalis declared with relief as he closed the door behind him. There was a pause. "Do I need to remind you that you cannot bring your sword to this occasion?"

            Harrian looked archly at him. "Of course not, bard. Do you think me a fool?" he declared haughtily, gesturing towards his long sword, which lay at the foot of the bed. "I am equipped in case of an emergency, however," he continued, opening the jacket he wore to reveal five throwing knives in the lining.

            Suddenly Yoshimo's request for a katana seemed unimportant. "My raven, we are going to a ball, not into battle," the tiefling groaned. "Although you do seem to be a little devoid of close range weaponry," he added, then desperately wished he hadn't.

            Harrian shook his head, reaching into his boot and pulling a dagger from there. "I keep this thing all the time; you think I'm going to leave it when we're marching into the realm of someone who robbed us then left us for dead?"

            "We were left unconscious; it is not quite as if we were left to die," Haer'Dalis pointed out, but he could tell he was fighting a losing battle. "Very well; you are ready, I shall have to accept that. But I'm sure you are aware that you cannot pull out your dagger at the drop of a hat."

            "Oh, yeah, the hat," Corias exclaimed, then yanked the black, velvety cap from the bed and placed it jauntily on his head. "Now do I look like a ponce, or what?" he declared, deadpan. Haer'Dalis's reproachful look remained. "Come now, my good bard, you know I won't do anything stupid with the weapons. Just this Duchinov is a most dangerous man, and it always pays to be prepared."

            They meandered out of the room and started down the corridor, collecting Yoshimo, _sans_ katana, and Minsc, in a suit that had ruffles, stockings and looked two sizes too small for him. Despite all attempts to look the part, there would be no chance of being incognito at this ball.

            The tavern was almost empty as they descended, as the hour was a little sooner than the one the regular drunkards preferred. Haer'Dalis took a seat and gestured that Harrian should join him, then glanced at the other two. "Mayhaps you could stay outside and await our carriage?" he asked lightly.

            The point was not missed by Yoshimo, but he took it all in his stride and so he and Minsc started for the door as Harrian stared at the bard with a blank expression which hid the irritated trepidation he felt.

            "My raven, I have a few predictions of what shall come to pass this evening," Haer'Dalis told him lightly, but his face was grave. "I feel – nay, _know_ – that this plan of ours will work, at least in the basic principle. How far its success goes, I feel is down to yourself."

            Harrian frowned slightly. This was not what he had anticipated. "All I have to do is sit around and make sure Duchinov doesn't get suspicious, or doesn't do anything to place Jaheira in danger. How does that affect this?"

            "It doesn't. What affects this is the depth of your emotions, which I'm sure will lead to a most powerful one indeed: Jealousy." There was a lack of comprehension written all over Corias' face, so the tiefling felt compelled to elaborate. "How does it make you feel that this lady you adore – do not argue, even if it is not in the way I believe, then there is still adoration present – is to spend this evening virtually seducing another man for our benefit?"

            Harrian glowered at him. "It doesn't exactly warm my heart. But we are doing what we must, and it is not as if there is any danger of anything happening, is there? At the very least we may require her to pursue a rendezvous with Duchinov at a later date, but I do not feel…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "I am not going to do anything tonight that may endanger our quest."

            "You are aware of the consequences if you do, do you not –"

            Haer'Dalis was cut off as Harrian leapt to his feet, just this side of furious. "Of course I do, bard!" he snapped. "If we fail here, then the scroll is lost. If the scroll is lost, then _Imoen_ is lost. She is my sister, and I am not going to do _anything_ that endangers her or keeps her in that pit Spellhold for any longer than necessary! I know _exactly_ what the consequences are, and I will suffer far more than you shall if this situation is to go awry!"

            He stopped, his chest heaving as the anger ebbed straight through him. Then he took the customary cleansing, calming deep breath. "So do not lecture me," he continued, his voice now dangerously low as he narrowed his eyes at the bard.

            "Ahem." They turned to see Anomen, resplendent in the crimson garb squires of the Order were required to wear for these occasions. His face was the same colour as his clothes. "I believe Lady Jaheira is ready."

            "Anomen, if you do not cease with the overly formal prattling I shall break your skull with whatever comes to hand!" an irate voice from the top of the stairs declared loudly, and Jaheira swept down, looking more than slightly hacked off.

            Harrian was no clothes expert, and even if pressed he would have been completely and utterly incapable of offering a description of her dress beyond 'blue… and… _stunning_'. He had anticipated that Haer'Dalis would see to it that the druid went all out, but someone here had surpassed themselves.

            He tuned back in to check if his mouth was hanging open, and was most glad to find it wasn't. He managed a smile, then turned it into a lopsided grin as she glared at him, as if daring him to pass comment. "Ah… who made the dress?" he asked weakly.

            "Madame Bourgette," Haer'Dalis answered with pride. Anomen raised an eyebrow discreetly, refraining from commenting, but the importance of such a statement flew over the heads of the others.

            "A woman with far too much time on her hands to have any use in any land," Jaheira huffed. The situation had her less than happy – she was a _druid_, in Silvanus' name! She was not supposed to wear extravagant dresses and flaunt herself at parties.

            "I am sure she has her place in the balance," Harrian stammered, feeling a need to contribute _something_ before his head exploded. He decided to keep his eyes fixed on Anomen, for whom it looked as if helping Jaheira get ready had been a most traumatising experience.

            The druid gave him a look as if to say 'want a bet?' but refrained from commenting. She glared at them all, unable as they were to offer salvation from this damnable evening she had bee tricked into, then swept towards the door, Anomen trailing helplessly.

            Before they set off to follow them, Haer'Dalis gave Harrian a knowing glance. "I still advise you to keep in mind what I have said, and keep your head clear from the depth of your heart on this night," he informed him sombrely.


	28. Dramatic Entrance

**Chapter 28: Dramatic Entrance**

            Harrian had kept his gaze fixed on the scenery passing by the coach on the trip to the government district and only tuned into the conversation at random points, not looking at anyone. This was mostly because Jaheira was sitting across from him and he didn't trust himself to meet her eyes without saying something stupid.

            He got the gist of the conversations, even though he was only half-listening and didn't join in. Anomen's sister had done them another favour with this coach, taking advantage of their father's frequent states of inebriation. Harrian made a mental note to thank her for everything she'd done.

            But before they knew it, then were pulling up the long, gravel pathway leading to Duchinov's expansive estate. Corias picked out a handful of other coaches either there or arriving at the same time they were. It was half seven, but the ball seemed already in full swing. Their dramatic arrival might yet be possible.

            The coach came to a halt, and Anomen was the first to leap out the door, ignoring the attempt of the footmen to come and open it for them. He had been most fortunate in procuring the coach, but did not wish to delay them for any longer than possible. The less time they were missing from his estate, the better. The party could walk home, and if the night went successfully, they would be fleeing in any case.

            Minsc tumbled out next, and to the cleric's despair, Boo poked his head from out of the ranger's breast pocket. Anomen frowned. "I thought you were instructed to leave the rodent back at the inn?" he demanded irritably.

            "Boo is too small to be left on his own for an evening!" Minsc insisted desperately, before turning to face the massive building ahead of them. As Delryn watched, he raised the hamster to head level and murmured something incoherent to him.

            Yoshimo sprung sprightly from the carriage, stumbling a little as he landed, then straightened up and grinned broadly at Anomen. There was a slightly conspiratorial look about him which Delryn really didn't like. "This is to be a good night, is it not, my friend?" the bounty hunter declared happily, then headed off to join Minsc without waiting for a reply.

            Haer'Dalis was next, looking euphoric at the potential the night had. The only one with any business to attend to was Jaheira, and with his part done for the evening, the tiefling felt he had earned a chance to enjoy the party.

            "Squire Anomen, you do not need to hold the door open like some lackey!" the bard assured him, and the cleric pulled away with the tiefling just in time to allow the coach's door to almost slam shut in Harrian's face.

            The thief stopped it, then glared at Delryn's apologetic expression. He climbed down, straightened his clothes, then turned just as Jaheira was beginning to emerge. The dress, whilst extravagant, did not permit much freedom of movement, and it was clearly not pleasing the half-elf particularly.

            Anomen was already offering her a hand as Harrian glowered at him, and the cleric decided that hurrying off was a better course of action. Corias grinned to himself, then extended his own hand to offer the druid assistance.

            Jaheira gave him her own glare, then landed on the ground quite comfortably by herself. "I do not need to be pampered this evening," she hissed between gritted teeth. Harrian smiled a little, sure that the mood had been brought about by the situation they were in and happy in the knowledge that the following morning all should be well.

            "I am simply following protocol, my lady," he assured her, stepping into pace with her. "Certain points of etiquette must be observed, lest we draw attention to ourselves." Harrian paused a moment, before extending his arm towards her. "One is that a lady must not come to such events unaccompanied."

            Although it went against her better judgement, she accepted it with the first smile since this disastrous evening had started. He was right, after all… it wouldn't do well for her to appear solo at this ball. Decorum had to be observed.

            As they all approached the doors, Haer'Dalis came to a halt. "Wait a moment," the tiefling murmured, and the others looked at him questioningly. "We cannot enter like this." He fixed his gaze on Jaheira and Harrian. "It would not do, as you know, for the lady Jaheira here to enter unaccompanied. But as it is, it appears as if she is being escorted by a servant."

            Harrian paused, frowning, then gave the bard a blank look as he came up clueless. "What?" he decided with finally.

            "Your clothes do you no justice, my raven," the tiefling continued casually, but the furrow of his brow made it clear he was doing some solid thinking. "You look little more than a serf in that attire."

            Corias glared at Anomen evilly. "You said that this was perfectly acceptable!" he practically screeched at the cleric angrily.

            "It was the best I could manage with your abhorrence of most of the accessories in today's fashions!" Delryn retorted defensively. "That is a perfectly acceptable garb when you are by yourself, but standing next to the lady you appear as nothing more than a dishevelled servant."

            Harrian muttered something along the lines of 'bastard' under his breath, then glowered at Haer'Dalis. "Very well, bard, what, pray, do you suggest that we do? How does your expert mind propose we arrive?" he demanded mockingly.

            The tiefling shrugged. "On the arm of someone she cannot be mistaken to be attached to, whilst they are not appearing as some lowly lackey," he said quietly, his brow furrowed, then turned towards Minsc.

            Anomen caught the glance, and shook his head. "Duchinov will recognise me. He would probably go out of his way to undermine the Delryn's by whisking away the lady his rival's son has appeared at the ball with. It might even be a productive move?" His reward was another glare from Harrian, and the cleric winced. "Lady Jaheira?"

            She strode forwards and grabbed his arm. "Anything that shall get this evening finished sooner," she assured him, and they started forwards towards the door, leaving a bewildered Yoshimo, a confident Haer'Dalis, an indifferent Minsc and an angry Harrian in their wake.

            Corias, deciding that, if he was going to look like a flunky he'd _act_ like a flunky, hurried to the front as the guard at the entrance stopped them, and pulled the invitation scroll from his inside pocket – the one on the other side from the throwing knives.

            The guard read it, and glanced up at Anomen. Deciding all was well, the man – who was wearing a suit of armour far too shiny for such an occasion, with a halberd that looked as if it had never been used before – turned and lead them into the main hallway of the house.

            The ballroom was large, and there were over two hundred people, all in garish costumes and extravagant clothing. Harrian considered it a wonder that their arrival was even acknowledged as the guard lead them in, then boomed in an unnecessarily loud and deep voice: "The party of Lord Anomen Delryn!" by way of presentation.

            A few heads turned that way, taking in the bizarre sight they had to present, but it was the mark of the oily-good breeding to be unfazed by anything, even a group as atypical as this one, so the glances were short.

            Corias paused, taking in a deep breath, then turned to the others. "Well," he said quietly, his brow furrowed. "We're here."


	29. Green is the Colour

**Chapter 29: Green is the Colour**

            The others dissipated, leaving Jaheira and Anomen alone in the crowd. The cleric scanned the faces keenly, on the lookout for Duchinov as they progressed through the people. Not only would it be rude to not greet their host, it would also be bloody stupid not to, considering their aim.

            He wasn't too hard to find, standing just off the side of the string quartet and the vast throng of dancing guests with Saerk Farrahd – Delryn felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up as he saw the despicable man – and some other aristocrat that he didn't recognise.

            Duchinov was quite tall and willowy, looking far younger than his forty years. There seemed nothing too special about him – his hair was a sandy mop that seemed content to look a little rakish at all times, his features were unnoticeable and his eyes were but a dull green – yet at the same time there was something about him, some aura that made him attractive.

            He might not have been much to look at, but he was indeed possessive of the sort of natural charisma that made leaders out of even the most unconvincing of men, giving them a dominating air that surpassed even those who were physically intimidating.

            His eyes lit up as he saw Anomen and Jaheira, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the latter for a few second – not lecherously, in any sense of the word, but merely the gaze of one who is assessing, and likes what he sees.

            But behind the bright, cheerful eyes and broad smile, there was a cool, calculating mind, one which was probably wondering what the squire was doing here. None of that was displayed by Felden Duchinov.

            "Lord Anomen!" he declared brightly, stepping forwards and shaking his hand firmly. "My, it's a delight to see you. I wasn't sure to be expecting your company, considering how your father failed to respond." Delryn opened his mouth to answer, but Duchinov was not done. "No matter, no matter, there was no RSVP. I was just wondering if Cor would agree to check in before he came. Where is the old devil?"

            _Old devil is right_, Anomen thought viciously for a moment, before pasting a smile onto his face. "My father declined the invitation on terms of poor health," he started. _His liver has had quite enough pickling for one month, I believe._ "I believed that an occasion such as this, however, would be worth visiting."

            Duchinov nodded in sure agreement. "Oh, you are most certainly welcome, Anomen," he assured him. Then he transferred his gaze back to Jaheira. "Well, are you going to introduce me to your radiant companion, or am I to just gape in awe until we handle it ourselves?" he asked smoothly.

            Delryn kicked himself. He was not the world's greatest at etiquette… though, granted, Duchinov prompting him gave Jaheira the opportunity to give him a brief, distasteful glance, hopefully put on for the count's benefit so he could think that this was not a happy couple. Plus, he _had_ expressed a direct interest.

            "I forget my manners," he mumbled, blushing furiously. "Count Duchinov, this is Lady Jaheira. Jaheira, this is the Count Felden Duchinov," he stammered. Over the count's shoulder, Saerk Farrahd grinned broadly at his discomfort. If looks could kill, the glare Anomen returned with would have struck the Calimshite dead. 

            "Charmed," Duchinov drawled, raising Jaheira's right hand to his lips. He then stepped back and gestured at his companions. "My go for introductions. May I present to you Saerk Farrahd –"

            Anomen's expression darkened. "We've met," he muttered gruffly. It was barely true – they had seen each other only across a crowded room, but knew of each other so well that this was but a trifling detail.

            The count raised an eyebrow. "Ah, of course, through Cor," he commented dryly. "And here is the Lord Isea Roenall," he continued, stepping back and waving a hand at the other nobleman.

            Delryn fixed Roenall with a glance. Before he'd had the fortune – or misfortune, as it sometimes seemed – to run into Harrian at the Mart, he had spent a lot of time in the Copper Coronet and had had the odd conversation with Nalia D'Arnise. Roenall had a reputation, of course, but the lady D'Arnise had had a few more choice words to say about the man.

            Farrahd gave Anomen a look of barely contained disgust. "If you don't mind, Felden, I think I'm going to go and take advantage of that sumptuous buffet you have laid out for us. A man cannot partake in a ball such as this on an empty stomach."

            As the Calimshite headed off, there was a taut silence, during which Jaheira glared at Anomen and Duchinov gave Roenall a none-too-subtle glance. Both were signals to be acted on, even though those gestured to were a little slow on the uptake.

            Delryn smiled falsely at Isea Roenall as he felt Jaheira's elbow in his ribs. "I say, Lord Roenall," he started falteringly, mind rushing through possible ways to get them both out of there. "I… I was wondering what your stance, and the stance of the guard and military, was on the bandits raiding caravans towards the north. They have caused my father some concern… perhaps we could discuss this?"

            It was a mind-bogglingly poor excuse to get them both out of the way, but it clearly suited the aims of both men for them to go along with it. Roenall nodded firmly. "Of course, Lord Delryn," he assured him, with an oily manner. "For 'tis verily a subject of much discussion…"

            Across the room, lurking next to Minsc in the corner, Harrian was watching with a mixture of emotions as Anomen and some other man he didn't recognise detached themselves from the group and went in the same direction the Calimshite fellow had. Leaving Jaheira and Duchinov alone.

            Everything was going exactly to plan, and that irked Harrian more than he'd realised. Seeing the count's face light up as he started to talk animatedly to Jaheira, clearing giving her a good burst of charm. He'd seen that expression on men before.

            Corias grimaced, then turned around to grab two glasses of wine from one of the passing lackeys. Minsc glanced hopefully at the alcohol, then shook his head despondently as Harrian downed both glasses in quick succession and deposited them both on the tray from which they had come from.

            "Something is clearly bothering Harrian," he rumbled, looking quizzically at the thief. "Boo is quite distressed at the number of people here. Minsc hopes this evening will be over with quickly."

            "I'm fine," Corias answered quickly, then glanced around again. Yoshimo seemed to have gone all debonair buccaneer on a group of ladies by the buffet, and seemed a gnat's wing away from doing tricks with his assortment of knives to impress. On the other side Haer'Dalis was deep in conversation with a short man he had identified as one of Amn's most prestigious playwrights.

            The evening was definitely going to plan. He stopped a moment to glower at Duchinov, which went unnoticed by the count, then gestured across the room to Minsc. "Come now, my large friend. If we're going to be stuck here, we might as well get bored on full bellies," he pointed out.

            As they moved, he could see more of Jaheira and the count. She was laughing, a bright smile on her face which he hadn't seen for many weeks. Harrian felt a stab of the jealousy Haer'Dalis had warned him of, but suddenly didn't care of the bard's advice or opinion.

            What eased his mind a little – a _very_ little – was that Jaheira, still laughing, then placed a hand on Duchinov's arm, which assured him that there was acting at work here. Considerable acting.

            For some reason, that didn't make him feel better when she gave the count a flash of what Harrian had always called her Khalid-smile; the one that she had only given her husband when he'd said something endearing or amusing. Duchinov had no rights to that smile, acting or not.

            Corias ignored the fact that he'd have far fewer objections if the smile was turned on him, and decided to momentarily focus his attentions on the hors d'oeuvres at the table. Gods, he was a jealous hypocrite, and was painfully aware of it.

            "Life is never as easy as you think it is, is it?" he asked Minsc idly, investigating the bread lightly. The nobs of the city always knew how to make or get good food, and he was planning to attempt to bankrupt Duchinov by eating all his supplies.

            "It seems as if it is sometimes, but as Boo has often told me," the ranger replied, feeding the hamster nuts, "there are always more complex things lurking beneath the surface, and not all problems can be solved with some righteous butt-kicking."

            "Boo says that, does he?" Harrian mused. At Minsc's nod, he sighed. "Tell Boo I think that, for a hamster, he speaks a lot of sense quite often. More so than most humans, come to mention it."

            Minsc answered, but Corias wasn't listening. His gaze was still fixed on Jaheira and Duchinov. As he watched, however, the count gave her an apologetic, yet still bright look, before turning and heading towards the back of the room, disappearing through a door. Leaving Jaheira alone.

            The Rasheman watched in surprise as Harrian strode off, clearly not listening, towards Jaheira, a look of conviction and determination on his face. Boo, also watching, squeaked a little. "I think you're right, Boo," the ranger murmured. "The hero seems to be losing his head."

             Harrian reached her just as the string quartet finished playing one tune, and the dancers subsided. "Duchinov appears to have disappeared for a moment," he commented quickly, coming up behind her. "Got time for a word?"

            Jaheira looked at him, taken aback. "What?"

            He grabbed her hand and pulled her quickly yet smoothly away from the main throng of people. "I don't like the way any of this is going," Harrian told her quickly and surely. "This is… this is not right."


	30. Open Conflict

**Chapter 30: Open Conflict**

            Haer'Dalis, who had just finished discussing his latest plans for 'Emoro and Lijuet' with the playwright, had headed towards the buffet just in time to see Harrian set off across the room. Thinking little of it, the tiefling had helped himself to some caviar – always fond of taking advantage of a bit of luxury as he was – before joining Minsc.

            "So, what is our raven up to now?" he asked the giant ranger idly, more amused than concerned about anything. At least, until he turned to follow the thief with his eyes and saw him pull Jaheira towards the side of the room.

            He gaped for a moment, wondering if Harrian could be as stupid as he appeared. Finally, he realised he had to believe his eyes. "That man seems intent on pulling us into the abyss on the whim of his heart!"

            Fortunately, Jaheira was having none of this. She came to an abrupt halt, yanking her hand from his. "Are you insane?" she hissed, staring at him for a long moment. "Duchinov seems all set to show me this damned scroll, and you are having concerns?"

            Harrian paused, realising he didn't have a decent answer to this accusation, and slowly realisation of how stupid he was being set in. Fortunately, it seemed to be written all over his face, for Jaheira then relented a very little.

            "This is almost over," she reassured him in a whisper. "The scroll shall be ours soon. Try not to fret a while longer." The internal conflict they both seemed to be suffering from had encouraged her to be a little more sympathetic, for the moment. It also minimised the chance of them starting a scene in the middle of the ball.

            Harrian nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. Over her shoulder he noticed Duchinov emerge from the door and start in their direction. "Here he comes," he murmured to her, before giving a half-bow to try and continue with the conviction that he seemed more lackey than nobleman and hurrying off.

            He was intercepted by Anomen, who had just managed to shake of Roenall before expiring from boredom. "That was… not a part of the plan," the cleric said quietly, his brow furrowed as they watched Duchinov and Jaheira.

            "I'm an idiot, aren't I?" Harrian continued, grimacing.

            Anomen looked at him a moment, before opening his mouth to give some reassurance, but found none could be said convincingly. He shrugged. "Yes," the squire decided finally, nodding firmly.

            Duchinov, who had watched as Harrian disappeared in the crowd, turned to Jaheira. "Any problems, my lady?" he asked her lightly. "Your servant seemed a little… ahem, agitated," he continued, frowning.

            She shook her head dismissively. "There was just some debate on the matter of the coach. Anomen appears to have developed a slight headache, but has decided that walking home will clear his head, leaving the coach for the rest of the party." Jaheira had managed early on to establish herself as a mere friend of Anomen's sister, and not in any way involved with the cleric, whom she had managed to speak of with distaste.

            Duchinov nodded. "A headache? No surprise, after talking to Isea," he chuckled, then smiled at her. "But come. You expressed an interest in some of the artefacts in my collection?" he asked brightly.

            She nodded, trying not to sound or appear _too_ eager. "Magical relics have always held quite an interest for me," she lied. Jaheira had limited interest in them – she had simply picked up a suitable amount of information from far too much travelling.

            Duchinov raised an eyebrow. "Aye? Intriguing, for 'tis quite a dangerous interest to have, considering how the Cowled Wizards view things," he pointed out as she took her arm, and he steered her towards the door he had returned through.

            "You seem to be managing it quite well, my lord," Jaheira responded smoothly, smiling a smile as broad and fake as she could muster. "So tell me… what items of interest do you have to show me?" she continued, still feigning interest.

            Truth be told, she had little against Duchinov as a man. He seemed a pleasant enough man – he had the arrogance of all nobles, but to a far lesser extent than many of those she had seen this night. His failing seemed to be his lack of regard for others and complete ruthlessness when it came to moving himself forwards.

            The count pushed the door open. "Permit me to simply surprise you," he assured her as they entered a cool corridor, dark in comparison to how the ballroom had been. "My latest acquirement is bound to be of interest to a connoisseur such as yourself, Lady Jaheira."

            "You have my utmost attention," she reassured him as he pushed the door open to allow them into a large room, most beautifully and delicately adorned with rugs, wall carpets, and some of the most interesting decorations littered around the room.

            Duchinov smiled, and closed the door behind them. "I shall start with the best, of course," he assured her, crossing the room and heading towards a small desk at the side of a wall. As she watched, he pulled a key from his person and unlocked one of the drawers in the desk.

            He pulled the drawer open, and from it withdrew a scroll, still bound neatly. "This is the prize of all my possessions," he told her proudly as she stepped up beside him to see it. "Something the Cowled Wizards themselves could not make head or tails of, but which my own mages have already translated half of which."

            Jaheira guessed correctly that this was the scroll they were searching for. She leant over to peer at it, wondering what to do next. "And what is this, exactly?" she asked brightly, looking at Duchinov.

            "A scroll of immense power!" the count declared brightly. "When all of its capability is unleashed, I foresee whoever wielding this power to be unstoppable in Amn!" He subsided a little. "Provided my mages are correct, of course."

            But Jaheira was barely listening. Her gaze was stuck at point over Duchinov's shoulder. For, at the far wall, almost half of it consisted of full-length windows, offering a view of the gardens behind Duchinov's estate. And she could see Harrian's head poking around the side, watching them.

            The count noticed her gaze wander, and frowned. "Is there someone out there?" he asked, a little concerned at how his secret could be slipping into public knowledge, and started to turn around.

            Jaheira, panicking a little, made a snap decision. They knew where the scroll was; now she would have to distract Duchinov whilst the others got it. And, in the more pressing present, stop him from investigating outside and finding Harrian and whoever was with him.

            She grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and pulled him into a kiss. It was not her preferred choice of action, but a few brief seconds of discomfort were worth keeping this quest on its feet and the party out of jail.

            Opening her eyes, she saw Harrian grimace, then nod and duck out of sight. She pulled away from Duchinov, silently cursing this situation she had got herself into, but did a good job of not displaying it.

            She ran a finger along his jaw-line. "So tell me," Jaheira murmured, as seductively as she could manage without sounding as disgusted with him and herself as she felt. "What does this scroll do?"

            Duchinov was wearing a slight smile, one of someone who had a few good ideas and intended to implement them. "Maybe we discuss this later, hmm?" he asked lightly, before pulling her into another kiss before she could prevent him.

            She felt herself get backed into a wall, Duchinov's lips still firmly locked on her own, his hands twitching as if they wanted to go places she _really_ didn't want them to. Taken aback, it took her mind a few seconds before she could start to decide what to do. She might have agreed to get Duchinov to lead her to the scroll, but as far as she was concerned, she wasn't going to go any further than that. But at the same time, blowing cover could be disastrous.

            Jaheira was saved from making a decision as the shattering of glass was heard, and the count was yanked away from her by a furious Harrian, who had wasted no time in intervening upon seeing what was happening.

            Corias had suddenly flown into a blind rage which he hadn't felt since fighting the cambion in Irenicus's dungeon. He tightened his grip on the count and slammed him against the wall, feeling his heart racing. "_You_ will keep your filthy hands _off_ her!" he bellowed, punctuating his words with more slams against the wall.

            _Kill him!_

            The voice, deep, dark, and dangerous, was one he hadn't heard for a while, one he had suppressed ever since first hearing it on the night of Gorion's death, when it had told him to turn and fight, to not run. He had not known what it was then, but did now; he knew full well what it was, and refused to give into it.

            He was not going to give into the taint of his soul, to his Bhaal essence.

            _Kill him!_ The voice repeated.

            Instead, he decided to pummel Duchinov into unconsciousness.

            Anomen was the first to reach him and drag him off the count, who had already blacked out. "Harrian! Harrian, we've got the scroll. We _have_ to go!" he yelled at him, hoping he'd get through to the furious thief.

            Corias subsided as he felt Delryn's gauntleted hand on his shoulder, and he shuddered briefly as the dark voice faded. He looked blankly at Anomen. "We have it?" he murmured vacantly.

            He looked around. Yoshimo was already slipping the scroll into his jacket, Minsc and Haer'Dalis was keeping a lookout through the window he had broken, and Jaheira was in the process of ripping her dress to make it short enough so that she didn't trip over it. He didn't meet her eye.

            There was a thump from the door, and a deep voice called out, "Count Duchinov? Are you alright in there?"

            It sounded like the guard, and it seemed as if they were fortunate enough for Duchinov to have locked the door when he and Jaheira had arrived there. Harrian, gathering his wits about him a little more, turned to the others. "We go now."


	31. Dispelled Illusions

**Chapter 31: Dispelled Illusions**

            They had managed to make it away from the estate with minimal problems, for their activities had most likely only gone noticed by the time they were off Duchinov's land. They doubted the count would connect the theft to them, and there were no worries of the authorities coming down upon them, so, as far as they were concerned, Duchinov was dealt with.

            The group came to a stop as they reached the first of the streets, and stopped to gather their breath from hurtling across the estate's gardens before they could be noticed. The quest had been successful, but things were far from perfect.

            As they stood, a motley bunch in clothes of nobles that they didn't seem to belong in, recovering from running away from the scene of their crime, they reflected how insane matters had become for them.

            Yoshimo handed the scroll to Harrian wordlessly as Jaheira, first to really recover, glared at him, finally gathering her wits about her. "Why, in Silvanus' name, did you have to do that?" she yelled at him abruptly, angry for reasons even she couldn't understand.

            Corias looked up at her, still shaken from the brush with darkness he thought he had banished. "What?" he demanded indignantly. "You thought I was just going to stand there and let him... do that?"

            "I had thought you might show a little restraint beyond beating bloody someone who could present a _very_ real problem for us! Another one!" Jaheira retorted, before turning on her heel and striding off in the direction of the Bridge District.

            Harrian glanced at the others, who looked innocently around and decided spontaneously that they would take a different way home, before he ran after her. A few drops of moisture falling on his face told him that it had started to rain.

            "I'm sorry, but I got angry!" he responded, not sounding particularly apologetic. "I couldn't just sit there and watch that happen! I made…" _I made a promise to Khalid… but somehow, that isn't the issue here and she knows it._

            "I am grateful for the intervention," Jaheira assured him, not looking at him as they strode down the streets, she trying to keep ahead, him trying to keep up. "But the depth of your emotion on the matter was quite unwanted."

            He grimaced, and glared at her. "Very well, so next time I will _calmly _pull off the man who's on the verge of _raping _you, shall I?" he yelled, practically hopping with irritation and frustration. He then went on to say one of the stupidest things he had ever uttered. "Or did I just interfere when the plan was going the way you wanted it?" he muttered bitterly.

            Harrian regretted the words the moment they left his lips, and Jaheira's left hook that sent him spinning into some piled boxes helped him feel much worse. He managed to soften his fall by hitting the ground with his hands first, but the only pain that eased was the physical one.

            "How _dare_ you!" Jaheira yelled at him, shaking with fury and disappointment. "How _dare _you insinuate that I would do such a thing? You think I would… you believe I…" Her voice trailed off, and she then gathered herself together. "You think I would dishonour Khalid's memory by –"

            "_No_," Harrian said firmly, clambering to his feet. "That's not what I meant at all!" He then realised how unconvincing this was. "I mean… it was… but don't listen to me, Jaheira, that was just… look, I'm sorry, okay?" he whispered, as sincere as he could possibly be. "That was a stupid and insensitive thing to say. I just got angry, and I'm _so _sorry…"

            He knew there was no way to make things right, and Jaheira's reply confirmed that. She didn't seem angry with him anymore, but just more upset and frustrated as she spoke. It was raining hard now, and her hair was plastered against her head. "I would never, _ever _do such a thing to dishonour Khalid's memory," she told him quietly, firmly. "Yes, I intend to move on with my life, as he would want me to, but not by leaping into bed with some half-crazed aristocrat!"

            She turned and started down the street again, and he hurried after her, rainwater soaking into his shoes – oh, to be out of this ridiculous clothing and into solid boots again – as he padded through puddles. "I know," he assured her. "I was just… being stupid…"

            Once again, Jaheira seemed to ignore his replies. "I will not dishonour Khalid's memory," she repeated roughly. "You know I would never have done such a thing with Duchinov. You know I never will, not with him, and…" Her voice grew a little softer, and more regretful. "And also not with you."

            He came to a stunned halt as he stared at her. "Jaheira…"

            "Harrian, I am telling you now, whatever you are feeling, _stop_ feeling it," she told him abruptly. "I would much rather you went back to being the friend who had sworn an oath to my husband than…"

            "I still am!" Corias insisted, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her around to face him. "And, as our tiefling bard pointed out to me the other day, protecting you and caring for you are two things that are not mutually exclusive; indeed probably work better together!"

            "It is still not _right_!" Jaheira retorted. "I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, are arguing for this! This is my decision to make, and mine alone!"

            Harrian still didn't let go of her. "I'd listen to you if this was truly what you wanted, or truly what you believed was wrong," he whispered firmly. "But you're simply doing this because you know it is what you _should _think is wrong, what you _shouldn't _want, rather than truly believing that!"

            "It does not matter what I want!" she retorted, pushing his arms away and striding off again. "We do not go through our lives ruling them by simply what we _want_, and you know that full well!"

            "Fine!" Harrian continued, still keeping pace with her, brushing the rainwater from his eyes. "But you know as well as I do that you cannot change your mind and your heart simply because you feel you _ought _to!"

            "I am going to try!" Jaheira yelled at him. "I am going to try because it is the _right _thing to do! I _know _this." Her expression softened a little as she regarded him. "Are you going to respect my wishes, even if you don't agree with them, or will you continue to pursue this?"

            Harrian met her gaze easily. "I will do whatever it is I need to do to ensure that I keep my promise to Khalid," he whispered.

            This was not quite an answer, not quite a conclusion, but it was good enough for Jaheira if it meant that he had bought her more time to decide just what she was going to do, and how she was going to do it.

            He didn't keep in step with her this time as she turned and marched on, but she suspected he would be following from a distance, not so close as to invade her privacy, but at hand if she were to encounter any trouble.

            Oh, how he played with her head.


	32. Down to Earth

**Chapter 32: Down to Earth**

            Haer'Dalis had been poring over the scroll since their return to the Five Flagons. The sun was just starting to creep over the tops of the buildings, its rays filling the streets as merchants rolled out their carts to start selling their wares, and the tiefling bard was no closer to an answer than he had been when he started.

            He sipped some of the strong tea that Thunderburp had brought to him a few moments ago, and shifted in his chair to block the sunlight streaming through the tavern's windows and falling on the scroll, almost blinding him as the white paper reflected it into his eyes.

            A glance at the stairs as they groaned the customary groan reserved for when someone was stepping on them confirmed that the early risers, the merchants in the city on business who stayed in inns and departed for unknown offices for the duration of the day, had started to emerge.

            That seemed to make the truth of how little progress he had made hit him harder than the rays of the sun had. Six or seven hours of solid work, but he just didn't have the knowledge needed to unlock the secrets of a magical artefact this powerful.

            The front door opened, and Harrian stumbled inside. His hair was mussed, the formerly smart clothing ragged and dirty, and he looked overall as if he had just been to the Hells and back. Haer'Dalis knew he had only returned to the Five Flagons the previous night to give him the scroll to work on, minutes after Jaheira had stormed in, then he had left for unknown parts.

            "My raven!" the bard exclaimed before he could really take in their leader's bedraggled appearance and reconsider bothering him. Harrian gave him a stony glare, before sidling into the chair opposite the tiefling. Haer'Dalis paused a moment. "Ah, actually, I believe this can wait until later… when you are rested."

            "I had five hours of sleep on a park bench, I'm perfectly well rested," Harrian told him firmly, but it was a poor lie, and more to convince himself than Haer'Dalis. "What's the problem? Any progress with the scroll?" Despite his fatigue, he leant forwards to take a look, mildly interested.

            The blade shook his head dolefully. "I'm afraid not, my friend," he apologised. "I may know how to cast magic missiles to destroy our enemies, knock down their defences and bolster our own strengths, but that is street magic in comparison to the depth of this scroll. You need a dedicated mage rather than a bard such as myself."

            Harrian's expression became even more doleful as he poured himself a cup of tea. "Imoen would have been able to sort that out in seconds," he muttered, downing the entire cup with little ceremony.

Haer'Dalis could tell it wasn't a dig at him, but still felt a little sheepish. The shame turned to concern as he realised the temperature of the tea the leader had just downed. "Isn't that exceedingly hot, my raven?"

            Corias' expression became a little bleary, and he grimaced. "Exceedingly," he croaked, before moving onto the pitcher of water, Haer'Dalis watching the rather pathetic display with more pity than concern.

            "It seems as if being rejected does not do any great wonders for body or mind," he mused quietly, but easily loud enough for the leader to hear. Indeed, he had no worries of Harrian knowing what he thought.

            "That is not something we will be talking about," Corias snapped, massaging his throat. "The situation is completely dealt with, and has absolutely nothing to do with you. If I want your advice on the matter, I will ask for it. If I don't – and I _don't ­_– I won't."

            "She does not want to admit what she feels?" the tiefling asked lightly yet confidently, rolling up the scroll and sipping his own tea, far more cautiously than the thief had a few moments previously.

            "Pretty much," Harrian moped. "But she stated quite clearly that she doesn't want to even look at it. So… so I shall stand by her decision. Some day, I trust she will come to a conclusion, a decision on what she wants, rather than what she thinks she _should_ want."

            "Obligations are hard to ignore," Haer'Dalis answered, still in the same tone as before. "However, I would not worry. I believe that she will most likely do her best to forget that yesterday ever came to pass, and things shall continue as they were before." He smiled a little. "Verily, 'tis a shame that I had already completed the play, for there is material here that could have a crowd beginning for more."

            "Yes, you really were as subtle as a brick with that play, weren't you," Harrian commented, a little bitterly. "I don't think that helped the situation. And if she just pretends it never happened… well, I will too, because I managed to make a supreme fool of myself last night whilst presenting my heart to her, only to get it beaten." He blinked, then shook his head. "So… the scroll. What do we do?"

            "I have sent our bounty hunter out in search of a mage, but in this city, I sincerely doubt that it will be easy to find one. The Shadow Thieves have many wizards working for them, Yoshimo said –" At Harrian's expression, Haer'Dalis hurried to add, "- but he also pointed out that very few of them have solid allegiances."

            The thief snorted, but the bard could tell that he clearly was in no mood to pull principle on such an abstract point. "So we should have some mage, doubtless in fits over a chance to take a look at something like this, hopefully by the end of the day?" Harrian sighed with satisfaction at the news. He was itching to get things back in motion, and taking care of the damnable scroll was a step in the right direction. "Then in that case… I'm going to bed."


	33. Uneasy Alliance

**Chapter 33: Uneasy ****Alliance******

            Late morning of the same day, Anomen had unwillingly taken it upon himself to play leader of the party in Jaheira and Harrian's absence, both sleeping off the intensity of the previous night as they were. He was already regretting it.

            Just before turning in, their leader had told him to 'make himself useful and get some jobs done'. Vague as the instruction had been, he had taken it to heart, and thus dragged Minsc and Haer'Dalis – Yoshimo was still out, somewhere, and nobody had deigned him important enough to know where or why – out to find and pay Tellis, and to get some new equipment.

            The Adventure Mart had been sporting some exceedingly rare elven chain mail, perfect for Haer'Dalis's use, and Anomen had amazed himself by having been able to get them a great discount on it by threatening to tell the authorities just _how_ Ribald got his hands on such rare items. It had mostly been bluff, but Barterman, although roguish and seemingly carefree, was not fool enough to bring the guard down upon himself.

            The surplus had bought Minsc a new helmet to replace the battered lump of metal he seemed to have been sporting ever since they'd escaped Irenicus's lair. Although their prizes were small and the time they'd spent out short, Anomen had been run ragged by the tiefling and the Rasheman. On return to the Five Flagons, he had merely tossed a handful of coins to Thunderburp to constitute another week's rent, and collapsed in an armchair.

            He was still there when Harrian finally descended, washed and rested and far neater than he had been when the squire had previously seen him. Corias approached him, in a better mood than before, and took the seat opposite him. "You're looking tired, my friend. Hard morning?"

            Anomen resisted the urge to make a sarcastic retort, too weary as he was to make the effort anyway. "I must ask how you keep this menagerie of a band you have cobbled together in line, Harrian. They are as uncontrollable as the wildest of beasts."

            The thief shrugged. "They don't seem to give me any trouble. Well… much," he conceded.

            "Bastards," Anomen muttered, realising how the antics – clearly Haer'Dalis's mostly, for Minsc was of too easy a nature to go out of his way to aggravate someone – had been put on merely for his irritation.

            "Jaheira come down yet?" Harrian asked quietly, not meeting the cleric's gaze, and Anomen smiled a little in sympathy at his friend's discomfort. "I have an apology – or ten – to make to her."

            "For leaping valiantly to her rescue, yes. I can see how that was rude," Delryn mused, then raised his hands submissively as Corias looked sharply at him. "No, no… do not enlighten me, I wish not involve myself in this palaver…"

            "Smart man," Harrian muttered under his breath. Behind Anomen, the door to the Five Flagons swung open, and Yoshimo stepped in, accompanied by a man in a red cloak. Corias gaped at them for a moment. "Gods, he didn't…"

            "Didn't what?" Anomen asked blankly as Harrian leapt to his feet and rushed over. The squire looked around perplexedly for a moment before also standing and hurrying over, tired but intent on not being kept out of the loop once more.

            "Yoshimo! When we told you to get us a mage, we wanted a good one we could trust, not… not…" Harrian stopped, stuttering for a moment as he collected the words necessary that could describe the man standing before them.

            Edwin Odesseiron lowered his hood and smiled humourlessly at them. "I assure you, fools, that my skills are far beyond your exceedingly limited comprehension. As for trusting… despite your moronic display of proof a year ago that you think otherwise, there are precious few people in this world you can trust. Just be thankful I am lowering myself to work with people of your level (and it is a _very _long way down)."

            "You know, I _really _hate it when you talk to yourself," Harrian muttered, but more sulkily than with any particular venom. "And as for lowering yourself… well, I bet you were falling over with excitement the moment Yoshimo mentioned what we had for you. If you weren't fighting the other mages to take a look at this, then I'll be damned."

            Just then, there was a bellow from behind them, and a slightly pained yet weary look crossed Harrian's face. "Enemy of Dynaheir!" Minsc strode, livid, towards them, fists clenched like giant boulders. His face sank as he worked out what was going on. "Harrian! Do not say we will be working with…"

            "I'm sorry Minsc, but I have a feeling that it's necessary," Corias said darkly, still glaring at Edwin in a most evil way, Yoshimo, Anomen and Haer'Dalis feeling particularly confused about the whole matter.

            "Necessary it is, simians," Edwin assured them haughtily. "For Yoshimo here has explained how you are on a quest to rescue that worthless wench, Imoen, and I do not believe you will be able to proceed without my help (though how you have progressed this far on your own eludes me)." Odesseiron glanced over at Minsc. "And you, ape? I see you have your pet rat, but where is that pathetic witch you seem so fond of?"

            "You will not insult the memory of sweet Dynaheir like that!" the Rasheman declared angrily, raising his hamster. "_Go for the eyes, Boo, go for the_ –"

            "Minsc!" Harrian barked, getting increasingly irritated with both of them. "I know just how you feel, but we're going to have to put that behind us." The berserker warrior looked doubtful. "For Imoen's sake?" he tried, and the ranger subsided unhappily.

            "So my enemy has managed to get herself killed after all," Edwin declared happily. "I knew it would only be a matter of time." He was clearly emboldened by Harrian's rebuking of Minsc. "I see you have acquired a new assortment of trained animals to perform for you."

            Anomen's eyes narrowed. "I know not who you are, wizard, and nor do I want to, but I must say I care very little for your tone," he said warningly. "Magic-users such as yourself are more trouble than they are worth, and did we not need you, I would not hesitate to report you to the authorities."

            "Yes, but you do need me, so cut your whinging, wretch," Edwin drawled, then looked around slowly. "You seem to still be missing some of your numbers," he observed coolly. "Where is that interfering Harper and the whining husband of hers?"

            Harrian glared, but was stopped from making a cutting retort by Jaheira's sudden appearance at his side. "I assure you, I am still here and in one piece. You will not concern yourself with the others, Thayvian."

            Despite her well-timed and defensive arrival – how people kept on managing to sneak up on him, he would never know – it seemed to Harrian as if she was giving him the cold shoulder, even without throwing him a single look. Ah, he was getting paranoid.

            Odesseiron looked positively delighted. "More fools of yours that managed to get sent to the hells? Well, it seems as if you are even more of a moron than I had anticipated, if yon coward Khalid died under your leadership," he assured Harrian.

            Corias knew that Edwin was just doing what Edwin did – irritated, poked, and made gibes just to hit at the weak spots, to test the defences of his enemy and see what could be useful in the future if it became necessary. Harrian also knew that he shouldn't rise to the bait, as not only was it useful to Odesseiron, it was entertaining for him.

            He still clamped a fist around his neck and slammed him into the wall. "If you speak of him again in such terms – nay, any terms, for you foul his name with your voice – then I will tighten my grip until all that is left is something no cleric can raise. Though I doubt any would waste their time with something as meagre as yourself."

            Even whilst being throttled, Edwin still managed to maintain a cool outlook, as if he'd rather die than give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. Even with a hand clamped around his neck, he managed to nod, and Corias released him slowly.

            "Thank you. That saved me the trouble of doing it," Jaheira commented slowly with a thoughtful frown, and he threw a small yet genuine smile at her. She seemed more pensive than cold, he reasoned with a small flash of realisation. Maybe not all was lost. Maybe she was considering what he had said – for he _would_ leave her be; would never dream of asking her to look at him in a way that went beyond friendship if he didn't think she was simply telling herself she didn't want to.

            Edwin gasped a little, rubbing his throat ruefully, and glared at Harrian. "As always, you are as subtle as an ogre and half as smart," he mumbled irritably, but he knew he was on safe ground. Corias could take idle jabs at himself relatively easily. "Shall we get down to business instead of discussion former… ah, comrades?"

            "I'd have it no other way," Harrian assured him, nodding at Haer'Dalis. The bard brought the scroll out with a flourish, and presented it to Edwin. "Here is what we stole from the Cowled Wizards. We have no idea what it is, or what it could do, other than it's dangerous and they want it quite seriously.

            "As you know, Imoen has been captured and taken to Spellhold, and we're trying to get her back," Harrian continued, not wanting to inform Edwin of too much, but knowing the Red Wizard would have to be informed if he was going to agree to work. "Until we know what the scroll is, we don't know what we'll do with it. Either use it to help get her back, or use it to strike a bargain with the Cowled Wizards to get her back."

            Edwin's eyes bulged, and a look of pure delight crossed his face as he scanned the scroll keenly. "This is… my, you have been _very_ busy (though how a moron such as yourself managed to acquire something like this is a question only the gods can answer)."

            "Do you have any ideas?" Harrian asked, ignoring his comments and keeping his face impassive.

            "Many ideas," Edwin assured him. "None of them quite solid enough. This… this will take some time for me to work on." Odesseiron smiled thinly. "I shall enjoy looking at this. I shall return when I have answers, simians."

            With that, he turned and started for the door, but before he could get there, the imposing shape of Minsc appeared in front of him, and Anomen grabbed him, pulling him back around to face Harrian. "No, no, no," the thief insisted. "There is no way that I am going to allow you to walk out of here with that. You wish to unlock its secrets, you will stay here, in the Five Flagons, under our supervision."

            Edwin's expression flickered with distaste for a moment. "But, ah, you are a busy man. I would be sure that you can not stay here to watch me constantly? (though if I wished to leave with the scroll by myself, these fools could not stop me)"

            "True. Minsc?" Harrian looked up at the berserker warrior. "I sincerely doubt that anything will arise that shall need our attention, and if it is, I doubt it will need your sword arm. In the meantime, would you like to keep a _very_ close eye on Edwin here, make sure he doesn't try anything stupid?"

            Minsc looked as if he would very much like Edwin to try something stupid, as it was only for Harrian and Imoen's sakes that he had no struck the wizard down there and then. "Minsc and Boo stand ready," he declared proudly, standing fully upright, his head brushing against the roof's beams.

            "So, Edwin… still wanting to take a close look at the scroll?" Jaheira asked, with only the faintest suggestion of mocking in her voice. The Thayvian threw her a sneering look but said something. Harrian had known he would agree – Odesseiron would be incapable of passing up an offer like this.

            Just then, the door to the Five Flagons was thrown open once again, and a man dressed in clothes that had seen better days – many of them – hurried in, starting towards the group. "Lord Anomen! A word, if you please?"

            Anomen turned, and faint recognition crossed his face, mingling with the apprehension and mild worry. "Yes? Is there something wrong?" He sighed. "My father has drunk himself into another stupor, hasn't he –"

            "No, no…" The messenger shifted a little. "He… he bids for you to return home at once, milord. It… it is a matter of great importance and urgency." The man stared at the ground uncomfortably.

            Delryn raised an eyebrow. "What could have happened that could make me be willing to return?" he demanded derisively.

            "It's… it's your sister, my Lord Anomen," the man croaked unhappily. "She's dead. Murdered most foully, by all accounts…"


	34. Family Ties

**Chapter 34: Family Ties**

            "Lord Anomen! Your father –" The guard to the Delryn estate was pushed aside as Anomen yanked the doors open and rushed into his family home, Harrian, Jaheira, Yoshimo and Haer'Dalis hot on his heels, uncomfortable but willing to stand with their friend and support him in this matter.

            "Father!" Anomen bellowed as they reached the pool in the house, adjacent to the living area and the small kitchen. Harrian quietly noted what Yoshimo had – the valuables and other odds and ends, but also how sparsely decorated and devoid of objects of any great worth. For the estate of a nobleman, it was quite bare.

            Lord Cor Delryn emerged from the kitchen, bleary, unshaven, but with the anger fifty wronged men in his eyes. "Ah, the prodigal son returns," he sneered mockingly and bitterly, taking a swing from the bottle of alcohol in his hand. "Heir to his mother's foolishness, as always. How far have you roamed, son, running away from me?"

            Anomen's expression flickered to one of disdain for a moment – it had only just struck noon as they passed (tentatively) the Council of Six building. "Speak not of my mother, drunkard. You were never worthy of being her husband," he hissed, his anger building up within him as he glared at Cor.

            "Yet I was, my boy, and her father as well!" his father barked, equally angry. "Your mother would still be alive if you children weren't such a handful!" He took another great swig from the alcohol and glared at his son.

            "Shut your mouth, father," his son retorted, still with the same simmering anger and built-up pain within him. "We've had this conversation before and I've not the patience to listen to it again."

            "You will listen to what ever I choose to tell you, Anomen," his father bellowed, taking another great swig from his bottle. "Respect your father, knightling. I am still the man of this family and you will obey me!"

Anomen lowered his head in deference. "Of course, father. I lost my temper and I apologise." Gone was any of the slightly arrogant certainty that the others had classed as his primary feature… here Anomen was cowering before his father, and Anomen cowering before _anyone _was a very strange feature indeed.

"It took you long enough to get here," his father continued bitterly, having found a point at which he could hurt his son and was using it to its full effect. "It wouldn't hurt you to come and see your father now and again."

Anomen stared at the injustice of such a statement, but refrained from making comment. "Father, where is Moira, your daughter? What happened to her?" he asked, his voice more than a little strained.

"Idiot boy! She's dead!" Cor yelled, spilling some of the liqueur down his ruffled shirt. "Murdered by the Calimshite fiends!" And, as if this would comfort and control his pain, he took another swig from the bottle.

His son started, his face a whirling maelstrom of emotions until he finally settled upon a mixture of despair and disbelief. "How did this happen?" he stammered, shocked and more than slightly shaken.

"How do you think?" his father demanded derisively. "It was Saerk the Calimshite. It was not enough for him to take my business, no… he had to take my Moira as well!" An expression of something bordering sorrow and probably as close as Cor would ever get crossed his face.

"But why would he kill her? She has nothing to do with your enmity!" Anomen exclaimed, a more than slightly perturbed expression on his face. His inner turmoil was plain to see in its franticness.

"Do you understand nothing?" Cor demanded mockingly. "He killed her because he could! For years I embarrassed him amongst the merchants, undercut his prices and stole his customers!** When my business failed he had a monopoly on the Calimshan shipping routes. He would not be happy until I had nothing. By the end, Moira was all that I had, and now he's taken her too!" Cor finished, taking a giant swig from his bottle one more time.**

Anomen frowned. "Where were the guards? Why was she not protected?" he demanded, getting increasingly angry and looking in danger of being about to lash out at anything or anyone to relieve frustration.

Lord Cor laughed humourlessly. "The guards left months ago. I had no money to pay them with.** Soon I will lose my house as well.**** Saerk has taken all of it... all of your mother's and sister's things..."**

Anomen's expression changed to one of sorrow as he lowered his head. "He didn't take it, father," he mumbled sorrowfully. "_You _lost it… you lost it…"

            "I lost it because you abandoned your family," Cor told him, turning the tables again to place the blame on his son. "If you hadn't run away, Moira would still be alive. You should have been here to protect her! To save her from the brigands!"

            Once again, the squire became submissive and apologetic. "I am sorry… I did not know…" he stammered uncomfortably.

"You should have been here, Anomen. Never forget that!" Cor yelled, now on a roll having moved all responsibility away from himself. "It is too late to save her but your work is not yet finished, Anomen."

"What can be done?" the squire asked, genuinely confused. "Moira is dead…"

Cor stared at him as if the answer were obvious. "She can be avenged, Anomen.** You must kill Saerk and his son." He ignored Anomen's shocked and doubtful expression. "It is the only way that Moira's spirit can be at rest. As for your friends," he continued, glancing over at Harrian and the others, who seemed to be trying hard to pretend they weren't present at this situation, "they would do well to help you, for Saerk the Calimshite is a very wealthy man and his gold shall be their reward."**

            Ignoring the slightly peeved expression on the party leader's face, Anomen frowned thoughtfully. "I must see Moira's remains first, father," he said at length. "It will take but a moment."

"Go then. She was cleansed on the pyre and her ashes are kept in an urn by the pool. It was the place that Moira loved most of all." Cor spoke at last with a little fondness in his voice, and he smiled a small, sad smile.

            Anomen nodded, before turning and starting towards the pool, stopping only to look at Corias. "Harrian, come with me to Moira's urn. I… I would speak with you," he asked quietly and a little falteringly.

            The thief nodded but said nothing. He fell into stride with his friend and they headed in the direction of the urn, the other three following a little uncomfortably. This was not a situation they were confident in dealing with.

            Anomen knelt beside the urn, head bowed, murmuring something – a prayer to Helm, most likely – as they reached him. Harrian raised his eyes skyward, trying to think of something to say which would not interrupt his friend, but came up blank and merely remained silent. Behind him, Yoshimo was muttering something in Kara-Turan – his own prayers for Moira, perhaps?

            "I am well worried by what has gone on in this place," Delryn said at last, not looking up, concern etched all over his face. "Though the choice seems clear and right, I am hesitant to take it." He took a deep breath. "Surely if Saerk killed my sister I must avenge her murder. Yet killing for the purpose of revenge is murder by the tenets of the Order. I know not what I should do."

            Harrian stopped, realising he would have to come up with an answer for the squire. "I am not somebody who is against vengeance in any form… but killing for revenge _is _murder. It goes against everything you have been taught by your Order. Saerk must be brought to justice."

"What you say holds truth yet, as my father says, I am honour-bound to find my sister's killer and take his life," Anomen replied, albeit a little weakly. Harrian knew the cleric was no murderer, but the words of his father had done an excellent job of confusing him and clouding his judgement.

"And what of your duty to the Order, to uphold its laws? The path you are considering is evil, Anomen. Do not consider it. I shall not help you if you choose to pursue such a road; in fact, I'll do everything to _stop _you," Harrian insisted. After his brief run-in with Duchinov and his Bhaal-essence raising its ugly head, the thief was intent on making sure nobody made a mistake like the one he had been tempted to make.

Delryn smiled, albeit a little tightly, but the gratitude on his face was clear. "Aye. This is right. I feel it in my bones." He took a deep breath and stood, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I've lived under the bitterness of my father's spirit my entire life. It has tainted me to the point where I am willing to partake in it. He can keep his hatred and drown his sorrows as he has always done." He frowned a little. "Yet the question of my sister's murder remains."

"I know this may sound like an odd decision, coming from myself," Harrian mused, clapping the squire on the shoulder. "But it sounds like a matter for the courts to decide." He raised an eyebrow at Anomen's expression. "I may be a thief, my friend, and I may have performed a number of criminal acts, but I am _not _a murderer, nor do I condone them," he told him firmly.

Anomen smiled a little again, looking sorrowful yet more relieved. "We shall take this matter before the magistrate." He nodded resolutely. "My father's revenge be damned! I have sworn to uphold the law and unlike him, I shall do so. Come, let us return to my father.** He may yet be convinced to follow the lawful path.**** It is not my place to take revenge.**** Such an act would lead to chaos."**

Cor was waiting for them as they re-entered the kitchen. He had a fresh bottle of alcohol in his hand, and looked eagerly at them when they arrived. "You have seen the lifeless ashes of your sister, Anomen. Let not this terrible act go unpunished! Gird thy heart with righteous anger and slay thy sister's murderer!" he declared, raising his bottle to his son, and looking for all the world as if he had never considered there to be an alternate action to take.

Anomen shook his head firmly. "Nay, father," he said firmly. "It is time for this foolishness to end."

Cor frowned, suddenly angry again. "What do you mean to say, Anomen?" he asked dangerously, narrowing his eyes at his son.

Anomen's expression became one of distaste and resolution. "Only that killing Saerk in vengeance would be murder as surely as my sister's death was," he told Lord Cor, with certainty in his voice.

His father stared at the cleric with disbelief. "The destruction of evil is never considered to be murder. Do not these knights that you seek to join take such missions themselves?" he demanded, the anger returning to him, his tone a little mocking as he mentioned the Order.

The squire shook his head once more, smiling humourlessly. "Not in the manner that you suggest." He sighed deeply "We must take these charges to the magistrate. This is the only way to end this circle of violence that you have trapped us within."

The disbelief on Cor's face intensified tenfold "You fool boy! The magistrate will do nothing. She is a pawn of Saerk!" he yelled, dropping the bottle of wine and taking an uneasy step forwards that was clearly supposed to be threatening.

Anomen looked haughtily at his father. "Bylanna Ianulin is a good and noble woman. You said this yourself before you slipped into the foul clutch of the drink," he added, disdain and disgust clear in his voice.

His father stared at him with contempt "You dishonour Moira's memory! You would allow the killer of your sister to go free?" Cor lurched forwards, looking ready to take action. But even as Yoshimo prepared himself to intervene, Anomen's father stumbled to the floor, his equilibrium ruined by alcohol.  "You are despicable! You are an insect!" he bellowed, still on his knees in the middle of the kitchen.

Delryn stood staunchly over his father, making no move to pick him up. "I will not allow him to go free! He shall be taken before the courts if he is indeed the one who murdered my sister," he promised solemnly.

"How can you doubt such a thing, boy? Saerk is the killer!" Cor yelled, grabbing the table and attempting to pull himself upright, his lack of balance and the effects of the alcohol making for a most pathetic sight.

His son sighed, then asked one final question that had been preying on his mind since Farrahd had been implicated. "Do you have proof, father?" he queried at last, raising one eyebrow at the man.

Cor stared as if Anomen was dabbling with insanity. "The proof lies in that fact that he has taken everything else from me! Killing Moira would complete my defeat," he told him stubbornly, clearly truly believing what he said.

Anomen's expression became sorrowful once more, and he bowed his head. "Aye, now I see. Such has always been the case in this household," he said regretfully, then raised his head, the anger and blame clear in his eyes as he glared at his father. "This is about you and only you. Your daughter's death means nothing beyond how it affects your pride and your comfort," he accused Lord Delryn.

Cor narrowed his eyes at his son, and would have been threatening were he less intoxicated. "Boy, you've fallen in with evil! Step back from the line and honour your family before it's too late," he warned the cleric.

"I will not, father. I suggest no evil. I suggest the lawful path," Anomen insisted resolutely, standing tall and firm.

"Again I say, obey me, Anomen!" Cor yelled, but his voice was now tinged with desperation and a little panic.

Anomen's face became one of disgust as he regarded his father with almost hatred. "I have obeyed you all my life and received naught but bitterness in return," he spat. "My friend and I shall take this matter to the magistrate, as the law requires."

"If you step out that door then you must never come within again!" Cor bellowed, solidly on his feet and playing the last card he had, the last card to ensure that the revenge he sought would take place.

Anomen took on a pained look, but one more regretful than fearful as he regarded his father. "Don't do this, father..." he asked quietly, clearly unmoved from his stance by the threat but shaken by it all the same.

"Shut your mouth!" Cor yelled, having found the only method to make Anomen pay for disobeying him. "If you leave now you are forever banished from this place. You will be cast from this family and become a nameless dog, not fit to cower at my feet!" He reached over and grabbed another bottle of wine, taking a large sip of it and glaring at his son.

"I've been cowering at your feet for all my life. Goodbye, father. Perhaps I shall see you again before you drink yourself to death!" Anomen snapped with absolute disgust, shaking his head with revulsion as he turned and strode out of the kitchen, the others milling a little uncertainly.

"You are nothing, boy! Nothing!" Cor's voice echoed as they started towards the door, Anomen making a point of not looking back, not faltering until they were outside in the warm sunshine once again, all problems and issues they had been previously confronted with paling in the face of this new trial.

Anomen closed his eyes for a moment, murmuring a quiet prayer to Helm. "Come, Harrian, let us leave," he said at length, having taken a second to compose himself. "We should go and see the magistrate in the Council of Six building and see if anything can be done, despite father's venom."


	35. Where No Law Can Reach

_And now, a rather odd turn of events... but not in the story. A re-titling for my work. Shadowmasters was originally just a working title, and as the story has continued, deviating a little from the original intended course, the name has become quite... unsuitable. And a little geeky. So, everyone's favourite fanfiction (*snort*) is now renamed 'Tide of Destiny'... which is a tad more fitting, don't you think?_

**Chapter 35: Where No Law Can Reach**

Harrian was most tentative as they entered the Council building, and could feel the eyes of Tolgerias on him the whole time they were inside… or maybe that was just his imagination. Needless to say, he was itching to get this settled and get them away from the scene of their crime as soon as possible.

But first, he had to worry about Anomen. Although the squire seemed resolute in his decision, he still seemed quite shaken, and understandably so. He would need a solid voice to guide him, and although Harrian was not certain in his decision-making, he knew that advising Anomen to not take vengeance was the safest course of action.

They approached Bylanna Ianulin, the local magistrate, a little tentatively. Both Harrian and Yoshimo felt their automatic thief instincts kick in and slid a little behind Haer'Dalis and Jaheira as some of the guards eyeballed them.

But Ianulin seemed to not notice, and she smiled in a warm way Harrian had never known a magistrate to as they approached her. "Good business, my friends," she greeted them, seeming sincere. "Is there aught that I can help you with?"

Anomen nodded, still as resolute and solemn as ever. "Yes, honourable magistrate," he responded respectfully. "I am seeking information on the murder of my sister, Moira Delryn," he continued, though a little hesitant.

The magistrate's expression softened a little, and she looked almost regretful. "Ah...you must be the son of Lord Cor," she replied slowly. "Anomen, is it?** I am afraid that there is very little I can tell you regarding your sister's death," Ianulin finished, genuinely apologetic.**

Delryn frowned with complete disbelief. "What do you mean?" he demanded incredulously. "Surely you have found evidence to link Saerk to her murder?** The man will be brought before the courts to meet justice, will he not?" There was panic in his voice, and the conviction he had felt in his father's estate was slipping away.**

She shook her head slowly. "There is insufficient evidence to connect Saerk Farrahd to the murder.** The only other person in your father's estate at the time was killed, as well," Ianulin informed them.**

Anomen looked unnecessarily embarrassed at that piece of news. "Yes, my father...cannot afford additional guards and servants, it seems," he said bitterly. "But...is there nothing you can do?** Surely you know that Saerk is responsible!"**

Bylanna Ianulin looked considerate for a moment, and was clearly thinking. "I know of your family's feud with the merchant," she started slowly, "but a motive is not enough without witnesses or evidence.** The rule of law must prevail...surely you understand."**

Once again, the squire looked shaken to his very core. "No!" he exclaimed with disbelief "There must be something that can be done!** Moira's murder cannot go unanswered!" he declared, his mask of conviction slipping away.**

Ianulin raised an eyebrow at him. "Answered?," she echoed suspiciously. "Take vengeance on the merchant and he replies in kind, and the feud continues unabated.** Is it not time for this hatred to be put to rest?" she asked.**

The uncertainty on Anomen's face grew tenfold. "I...I do not know," he confessed at length, and threw a questioning, pleading glance in the direction of the others.

"She speaks the truth, Anomen," Harrian declared at last, realising his input was needed, but innately uncomfortable at agreeing with a magistrate. "What if this Saerk is innocent? You cannot go and take vengeance on someone who is not guilty." His friend looked unsure, so Corias delivered the final blow. "You are a knight, first and foremost," he reminded the squire.

"Yes, you are likely correct in this, my friend," Anomen decided at last, nodding a little reluctantly. "It wrenches my heart that Moira's death should go unpunished, but there is little that can be done. I should not take vengeance upon a man my father believes is guilty only because of his pride.** It could just as easily have been a... a burglar, perhaps," Delryn conceded, though he sounded dubious of this suggestion.**

"And if it is this Saerk," he continued, "the gods will punish him even if the courts will not. I wish I could return to my father and convince him that this is the best way, but I am sure he will not even see me.** He is a stubborn, vile man," Delryn spat. "Perhaps, in time, he shall see the truth of this matter. At least... that is my hope."******

Anomen grew thoughtful, and it was a few moments before he spoke, his face clearing up as he straightened, seeming to be trying to shrug the worries off. "Ah, Harrian, let us continue on your quest and leave this behind us.** It leaves an ashen taste in my mouth that I would sooner forget."**

Corias looked as if he was about to say something, then thought the better of it. "Yes… let us go," he said hurriedly, then lead them all quickly outside, ignoring the feeling of Tolgerias and Corneil's eyes on his back. It had to be paranoia.

Delryn still seemed less than happy as they strode away from the building, and Jaheira turned to him slowly. "I would not worry yourself, Anomen," she assured him. "Men like Farrahd always fall over their own plans sooner or later. He shall meet his own end, and, like you said… if he does not, the gods will deal with him."

"That," Harrian butted in, "will not be necessary. We may not be charging in for righteous vengeance, but I don't think we'll let Farrahd, if he is guilty, get away with this. In any way," he told them firmly.

Anomen looked at him as if he thought the thief had completely missed the exchanges of the day. "What do you propose?" he asked dubiously.

Harrian turned to Yoshimo. "Talk to Tellis – pay him what he's earned, by the way – and see if he knows anything about the murder… if Farrahd has hired some people to do his dirty work." He smiled at Anomen's surprised expression. "It's rather passive action, for all I intend to do is give any information found to the magistrate, but if the man is guilty, then I say we do something about it." He took a deep breath. "Now, I say back to the Five Flagons. See if Minsc has ripped Edwin to pieces yet."

As they set off, Haer'Dalis fell into step with Jaheira, who had seemed thoughtful since emerging in the middle of the encounter with Odesseiron. "Lady Jaheira, you seem quite contemplative. Have the matters of the previous night affected you adversely?"

            She shook her head slowly, although seeming unwilling to share such thoughts with the tiefling. "No," she answered briefly. "They… they seem a long way away, in fact. I was thinking of… other matters."

            "Naught I can aid you with?" the bard offered lightly. "Thou looks as if thy has the weight of all the planes on thy shoulders. Any burdens this sparrow can lighten for thee?" he continued, switching into a slightly more theatrical tone.

            "My burdens would be lightened significantly if you were to cease your incessant prattling, bard," Jaheira retorted, less than happy at the conversation and clearly unwilling to discuss problems with Haer'Dalis.

            "Very well; I shall keep my silence," the tiefling replied. "And if you wish to speak of what ails thee, then this sparrow is ready to lend his ear and listen. For I cannot continue with my 'prattling' if I am hearing what you have to say, can I?"

            "That is debatable," Jaheira pointed out. "For I would be surprised if the mere voice of someone else was enough for you to hold your tongue." Her glare deepened for a moment. "And besides, if I were to lighten my load by telling you what troubled me, how could I be sure that it would not appear in your damnable play?"

            The bard smiled in a way he obviously thought was winning, but merely grated the druid's nerves. "The play is already finished," he assured her confidently, then took on a pensive look. "Although, if successful, a sequel is not to be discounted –"

            Up front, oblivious to Haer'Dalis's fruitless attempts to discuss with Jaheira, Anomen diverted his gaze from their downcast stare at the floor to regard Harrian with a thoughtful air. "My friend, I have a question to ask of you… it is not too serious, yet preys on my mind nonetheless."

            Corias turned frankly to face him, a cautious yet sympathetic expression on his face. "Of course, Anomen. Anything I can do to clear your mind," he assured the squire as sincerely as possible. He did not envy the position Delryn was currently in.

            "It is the hypocritical advice you have given me," the cleric continued, his face still impassive. Harrian met his gaze, nonplussed, and Anomen grimaced at last. "You are telling me that wants do not rule this world; that what I must do my duty, do what is right, rather than follow what I like?"

            "I am," the thief replied, still a little oblivious as to the point his friend was getting at. "And it is true. Following a desire, doing what you want in this situation could destroy you, Anomen. It is evil. How is this hypocritical?"

            The cleric looked thoughtful for a long moment, before a slightly wicked expression crossed his face and he raised an eyebrow. "It is hypocritical because you are going against your advice when it suits you to."

            A cold chill struck Harrian as the truth of Anomen's words tugged at him. "I…" He grimaced, then looked away. "I don't know what you mean."

            Delryn's face sagged. "Please, do not play the fool. I am, of course, referring to the matter of yourself and the Lady Jaheira. You have advised her to follow her heart rather than her duty, and here you are telling me the exact opposite. I wonder, if her duty told her to do what you were in favour of, you would tell her the same thing?"

            Harrian's sympathetic expression disappeared in a flash, and a brief stab of anger hit his heart as he glared at Anomen. The pain withheld in the squire's eyes dampened his fury somewhat, and he settled with clenching his fists rather than throwing Delryn into a wall as he had been tempted. "How… Why…" His voice trailed off, and his jaw tightened. "Don't presume to know my life."

            "I don't," Anomen replied in an irritably calm voice. "It is just that you have helped me very much today by stopping my desires from getting the better of me, and I am doing my best to return the favour." He took a deep, faltering breath. "The righteous path is often the hardest to walk, is it not?" he commented dryly, managing a faint, wry smile.


	36. Per Chance to Dream

**Chapter 36: Per Chance to Dream**

            Harrian would later on insist that he had decided it would be a good idea for the party to take a few days off, but in truth he couldn't have got any of them to co-operate with his wishes if he'd bribed them. Morale was low.

            Anomen had spent days moping in his room, and any attempts to talk to him had been met with his mood swinging so randomly it was safer to avoid him altogether. Oddly enough, the only person he didn't explode at was Yoshimo, but the bounty hunter had no more luck than anyone else at getting the squire to brighten up, most understandably.

            Edwin had been locked in Minsc's room for seventy-two hours straight, and they could only believe that the ranger hadn't ended the conjurer's life. Everyone was quite hopeful that he had, despite their needing Odesseiron and his magical skills. Being in a situation such as he was, Edwin had worked more than was humanly possible over the three days in desperation to get out.

            It was the early morning of the third day after Anomen had learnt of his sister's death, and until Edwin had worked out what the scroll was or Tellis had given them information regarding Moira's murder, there was but one issue to be dealt with.

            Harrian had taken Anomen's words to heart, and considered if he _was_, in fact, being biased and unfair about the matter. He didn't see why not – love (though he panicked at the thought of his falling in love with Jaheira) was more than capable of making you blind to good and bad.

            They had not properly spoken since the night at Duchinov's, which had given both of them time to consider. Haer'Dalis had been persistent in his attempts to get Jaheira to tell him what conclusion she had reached, but all the bard had received for his troubles was a realisation of just _why_ Khalid had called his wife insufferable.

             Harrian, for once, had managed to be an early riser. It was but six of the morning, and the sun's rays were barely penetrating the rooftops of Athkatla. Corias knew that Jaheira would be awake at this hour, for she had always been the one to rouse everyone in the morning whilst camping in the wilderness.

            The memories brought a smile to his face, one tinged with nostalgia and a little sadness. Harrian was always the last to wake up, and when he was roused, he was groggy and irritable until breakfast had been eaten. Jaheira had never been willing to take the abuse he hurled at everyone during such a time, and he'd learnt to sulk in silence whilst she was making sure they all would be awake so they could set off on the road as soon as possible.

            Imoen, whilst capable like Harrian of sleeping the day away, was not bad-tempered when woken from her slumber. She was the sole other who was exempt from his foul moods in the early morning, and Jaheira left her permanently in charge of their leader's daylight consciousness.

Imoen had thus devised a hundred and one ways to wake him up, all with the aim to rouse him as amusingly as possible. Buckets of water had featured predominantly in the early days, but when Dynaheir had started to instruct her in the magical arts, a shock of the arcane variety became a common technique.

Khalid, who had always been a light sleeper, if not as active in the morning as his wife, would generally be awoken from the noise Imoen's methods resulted in, and seemed the joint judge in how amusing the reaction was. His light laughter and Imoen's contagious giggling were often the first things Harrian would hear in the morning, barring the splashing of water or a few muttered incantations.

Minsc, who was in the habit of taking the last watch, would also laugh his deep, booming laugh, but would be instantly chided by Jaheira as all wildlife within a twenty-metre radius would flee at the noise.

With the druid in charge of breakfast, meat was never consumed in the morning. It was acknowledged – but mentioned by none – that Jaheira was _not _one of the great chefs of Faerûn, and thus Harrian had become perfectly used to starting the day with a bowl of sloppy lentils, or such.

There would always be brief discussion on what they were planning to do that day ("Clear the Nashkell Mines"; "Go Bandit Hunting"; "Flood Cloakwood"; "Storm Iron Throne Headquarters"), then, if their duty was particularly grim, Dynaheir would always encourage them to talk of their dreams the night before, to brighten them up.

There had been many jokes made in Harrian's direction because he never seemed to dream – or, as Khalid pointed out, he dreamt but never remembered it. He believed the half-elf was right, for he would always get an inkling of a predominant feeling or phrase from the middle of the night: Bone daggers, Nashkell, Cloakwood… the words '_You will learn_'. But he had never spoken to anyone of them.

He had that slight feeling today, the feeling as if he had forgotten something; that it was just beyond his recollection, but that it was still present. An odd sensation, memories of… Candlekeep, of Imoen, of Irenicus…

"Life… is strength," he muttered under his breath as he wandered down the corridor towards Jaheira's room, then hesitated as he wondered just why he had said or remembered that.

The door to her room opened before he got there, and he almost ran into her as she stepped out. Harrian managed to freeze and come to an abrupt halt in front of her, his mind racing. "Uh… morning," he managed at last.

Jaheira paused, the faintest of faint smiles on her face. Her hair was down and scruffy, her eyes dark, and sunken. She looked, as Harrian would say to describe anyone but her, like hell. "You…" She paused a moment, then cleared her throat. "I would not expect you to be up at this time."

Harrian met her gaze easily, his brow furrowed a little with concern for her. "I couldn't sleep," he responded softly and honestly, his stomach fluttering a little as he evaluated her haunted look.

"There's a first," Jaheira murmured quietly, and despite himself, Harrian grinned at her, albeit a little wanly. There was a stilted silence for a moment. "Why are you here?" she asked at last, then her expression flickered again. "I mean… do not think that you cannot come, simply… it is early and you…"

"I understand," he interjected quickly. "And I… I wanted to talk to you," Harrian continued, frowning a little once more. He examined her expression for a moment. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell. Are you alright?"

"I…" She stepped back into her room, and – intent on making sure she didn't shut him out if she needed him – he followed her. "I have been having dreams about Khalid. Not… not necessarily nightmares, just… dreams."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked cautiously, aware from watching the aforementioned breakfast routine that it sometimes eased people's minds to talk of their dreams, of how they bothered them.

Jaheira remained silent for a moment, averting her gaze towards the window, where the sun was finally managing to creep over the rooftops. "We were walking along a broad road… not distinctive; just a road. Khalid was in the distance, some way off the path we walked, but he did not come closer and I saw no way to reach him. He walked with us, from a distance. He smiled that I was content." Her brow furrowed, but a thoughtful, thin smile crossed her face. "I guess… I guess I was."

Harrian considered both her words and her expression for a moment. "Well, to see you travelling with a group probably meant a lot to him. It meant you could carry on," he said at length, a little hesitant.

"It was not –" Jaheira halted for a moment, and he looked quizzically at her for a moment until she continued, taking a deep breath. "I… I suppose. Yes." She paused a moment, still thinking. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Corias considered not telling her what he thought for a moment, but then realised that would be as selfish and biased as Anomen had accused him of being. "I wanted to apologise for the way I've been acting, the way I've been thinking, over the past few days," he mumbled in a hurry, knowing he would have to rush through his speech if he were to say it at all. "It is not my place to challenge what you think, to challenge what you want, or to challenge what is right or not. I was wrong. Wants do not rule this world…"

Harrian looked away a moment, before turning and starting for the door. "I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, then opened up the door and – silently cursing himself – stepped out into the corridor.

He stopped as she spoke. "Wait." Jaheira was looking at him, a slight frown on her face as he turned back to look at her. "In my dream… I was not walking with a group. I was just walking with you… Khalid was smiling that I was content at walking alone with you…" She looked away, as if having just confessed to some great sin, and a silence fell upon them for a moment.

Harrian felt as if something had burst within him. "Jaheira," he mumbled hoarsely, taking a step forwards. "This… you… I…"

Neither of them got a chance to finish what they were thinking as Anomen barrelled into the room that moment, out of his armour and looking very much as if he had just woken up. He was also more animated than he had been for the past few days. "I… I think you should go… go to Minsc's room," he panted, resting on the doorframe. "Odesseiron… has…" He grimaced, then took a deep, cleansing breath. "Just… come."


	37. A Certain Point of View

**Chapter 37: A Certain Point of View**

When the three of them arrived in Minsc's room, Yoshimo was standing in between the giant ranger and Edwin, looking very much helpless in a clear attempt to stop matters from getting violent. Minsc seemed as if he would fly into his berserker rage at any moment, Edwin's expression was haughty and superior, and Haer'Dalis was watching the proceedings with an air of great amusement and interest.

Harrian cocked an eyebrow at them. "What's going on?" he asked levelly, folding his arms across his chest, and glaring at Edwin with the certainty that it was all his fault – which, to be fair, it probably was.

The mage waved the scroll in the air. "I have unlocked the secrets of the artefact!" he declared smugly. "And the great ape seems to be forgetting that your mindless quest cannot be continued without my help (as if they could manage it by themselves)."

Corias sighed, irked by Edwin. He hated the man with a passion, but had to confess that the mage's not inconsiderable magical powers were absolutely invaluable at the moment. He decided to humour him. "I'm impressed," he told him grudgingly. "What do you have?

Odesseiron's expression became infinitely smug. "A new revelation in my... er... our scroll. A spell of transformation, both basic and sophisticated. It is not unlike the transformation of mage to lich... but it must be more... much more..."

He took a step back with a flourish, grinning from ear to ear. "I've prepared for this moment all my life, and lifetimes before!" A slight insane glint came into his eyes, the glint that told of a passion and desire for power. "Be prepared to cower and flee! Nothing will stand in my way after this!"

Harrian frowned, horror rising within him. "Edwin… we had a deal. This scroll is to be used to bargain for Imoen… your reward was the job itself…" He started to realise, albeit too late, that he had underestimated Odesseiron.

Edwin shook his head, and laughed, waving the scroll aloft. "Coward! You and your frail morals will witness my rebirth, and then I shall repay your slander!" With a flourish, he lowered his head and began to read, arcane and mysterious words erupting from his lips before any of them could make a move…

… and a green light surrounded him, swirling in the air around the ambitious mage, as he started to shift and change before their very eyes into an unidentifiable form, a form of immense evil and power, expanding to almost fill the room.

Then, just as Harrian unsheathed his longsword, the shape contracted once again to normal size. The green light engulfed Edwin for a moment – just a moment – and then dissipated entirely, leaving him the same size and human once again.

There was a long silence as they gaped. The noise to break the silence was enough to make Harrian want to hug Edwin for what he had done, as Jaheira clamped a hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to smother a laugh.

"This is bad." The woman who was now Edwin stood shocked for a _long _moment, as if what had happened was so horrific that he… ah, _she _didn't want to contemplate. When the ensuing eruption came, none of them were disappointed.

"This is blasphemy!" s/he shrieked, practically hopping with rage as Yoshimo, standing next to her/him, almost doubled over with laughter. "An outrage against nature and order! I must redouble my efforts to cancel the hideous and deforming nature of this Nether scourge!"

Harrian, although he had to lean on Minsc for support as he laughed harder than he had in a long time, was immensely gratified to see Anomen and Jaheira sharing in the mirth of the moment. "Looks like you're in some trouble," he sniggered, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. "And by the way, nice rack," he added with a guffaw.

"What?!" Edwin shrieked, glaring at him, but the look was lacking some of the piercing arrogance that she had held as a man. "How dare you, scoundrel! Gawking at my mantle!" The mage straightened up haughtily, then glance down. "(Hey, they aren't that bad come to think of it... wait a moment. What happened to my… oh no. No. _No_!)"

With that, she rushed out and into the adjoining bathroom with unknown intents as the other six merely stood and laughed more than they ever had. Still struggling to remain calm, Harrian picked up the scroll and winked at the others, a broad smile on his face.

It took a few seconds for Edwin to remember the scroll, and she hurried out again, glaring at Harrian with something of his/her former venom. "That scroll is my only link to setting things right!" she snapped furiously. "Woman or not, my spellthrowing is unparalleled and will bring the wrath of cleansing hellfire upon you should the mood move me! Now _give _me that scroll!"

She leapt forwards, but Harrian lifted the scroll out of her reach just as she grasped for it. "This scroll is going to the Cowled Wizards as promised," he told her grimly. "If you had stuck by the agreement, you wouldn't need the scroll to get yourself out of this mess. Your on your own here, Edwin…a."

The mage looked panicked for a long moment, and Harrian felt, for a brief moment, worried that she would burst into tears there and then. Instead, she took a step forwards and grabbed him by the shirt pitifully. "No! No! My moment of greatest need! I plead you remain! I beg of you!" She released Harrian and grabbed Jaheira by the shoulders. "Sweet merciful warriors!" She moved on to clasp Minsc's arm pitifully. "Virtuous crusaders!" Then Yoshimo was grabbed by the shoulder. "Clever cutpurses! Please!"

Harrian watched her, grimacing as he realised what he was about to do. "You do know that finding Imoen is our first priority, and nothing can dislodge that, don't you," he said quietly, a deep frown on his face.

"I am not _asking _you to dislodge that misguided priority, monkey!" Edwin declared. Gone was the desperation and demand for pity as she practically hopped with rage and frustration once again. "I am just asking you not to damn well abandon me when I could do with you simians serving my cause, as you should know it is your place to do so!"

Corias sighed, disgusted with himself as the decision became solid in his mind. "Bah, very well," he groaned, throwing the scroll at him. "Make a copy of the writings and then leave. If you betray us to the Shadow Thieves or the Cowled Wizards then I will hunt you down let Minsc deal with you."

Edwin glared at him, but the expression was lacking some of its usual venom, and Harrian decided to acknowledge it as the closest thing to a look of gratitude he would receive from the bitter mage. She lifted the scroll then ran her fingers over the writing, muttering under her breath quietly.

A second scroll popped into existence without ceremony in thin air. The Thayvian grabbed it before it could fall, and stuck it deep inside her robes, which were still far too large for her. "Monkeys. Insufferable monkeys, all of you." Edwin glared at them again before starting for the door, throwing the original at Harrian. "This is not the last you have heard of me. That, I swear (Were that I could stop time and kill them _all_)."

The door slammed shut behind the Red Wizard, leaving the six party members to regard each other slowly. Yoshimo seemed to be resisting the urge not to burst out laughing, Minsc wore a broad smile, and even Anomen's eyes were twinkling with mirth, though his face was stony.

"Well. That was… different. I wonder –"

Harrian was interrupted as the air shimmered around them, and a silvery circle shivered into existence, the unmistakeable prelude to a dimension door. They had barely managed to draw their weapons as three Cowled Wizards appeared, each bearing staffs and smiling in an irritatingly smug way.

"You! You thought you could get away with this?" one of them demanded, stepping forwards. As he brushed his hood back, he revealed himself to be Corneil, the wizard they had spoken to in the Council of Six building.

Tolgerias, standing beside him, laughed mirthfully. "Indeed! We knew that at some point you would use the scroll and reveal yourselves to us. Hand it over, and we may not kill you." He considered this for a moment. "Or we shall at least kill you quickly."

"We shall do no such thing, mageling –" Anomen snapped, but was quickly interrupted as the third, unidentified wizard raised his hands and started to mutter arcane words under his breath, red light erupting at his fingertips.

Harrian didn't know what he was casting, and had no desire to find out. Quick as a flash, he leapt forward and grabbed the candle that was resting on the desktop Edwin had been working at. The wizards came to a halt as he held the flame dangerously close to the bottom of the scroll. "Finish that incantation and your secret's going bye-bye," he breathed, feeling his heart racing but forcing a confident expression onto his face.

Tolgerias waved a hand at the others. "You're not going to get away with this. We _will _have that scroll, one way or another. Even if we have to slaughter all of you to get it, we will have it –"

At this point, Corneil interrupted. "Quiet, man!" he barked, glancing at his comrade. Then he fixed Harrian will a cool look of ice-blue eyes. "Perhaps we can make a deal?" he queried at last. "You search for a friend who is held at Spellhold. If you give us the scroll, then we may be able to… overlook her breaking of the laws."

Corias nodded curtly. "I had hoped that such an arrangement might be possible," he murmured under his breath." Then his dark eyes hardened and met the Cowled Wizard's unflinchingly. "However, I don't trust you. If you deliver Imoen, then I will hand the scroll over to you."

            "Unacceptable!" Tolgerias raged, his eyes flashing. "How are we to know that you will hand the scroll over once you have your friend?"

            Harrian glared at him. "I'm more likely to do so than you are to hand over Imoen once you have the scroll," he pointed out. "Besides, you know who we are, and you are powerful wizards. If we failed to hand the scroll over to you, you could hunt us down with minimal problems."

            This was the truth, and they knew it. Corias was just relying on their relative unimportance to stop the Wizards from exacting retribution once they had the scroll and Imoen had been delivered. "Unless, of course, you don't want this scrap of paper," he continued, lifting the candle a little for added effect.

            He was not disappointed by their reaction. "Hold! We shall see if we can do as you ask!" Corneil practically screeched. "I do not see why not." He took a deep, calming breath. "We shall return within three days. It will be either with your Imoen or with a new proposal. If that scroll is damaged or destroyed, however…"

            "We'll die? I've heard talk like that before," Harrian scoffed, shaking his head.

            Corneil smiled thinly. "No, no. I just advise you take care of the scroll. Or else your friend might meet an 'accidental' end at Spellhold."

            Corias's expression darkened. His throat tightened and a muscle at the side of his jaw twitched. "Leave," he instructed curtly. "Get Imoen out, and you shall have your scroll. If I find she has come to harm or been mistreated in any way, you shall not see the arcane secrets of this scrap of paper, and woe betide you if you attempt to harm me or any of my friends as retribution."

            Tolgerias seemed ready to open his mouth for a retort, but a look from Corneil silenced him. The lead Cowled Wizard nodded slowly. "Very well. In three days, we will find and come to you. But do not expect us to be complacent in this business. I advise you to remain on your guard, Corias."

            "As I do you, mage," Harrian replied in the same tone, and his gaze did not slip from Corneil's until they had magicked themselves out of the room. Once they were alone, he lowered the candle and regarded the others again, his face weary.

            "Their response was prompter than I had anticipated, but it seems we are moving forward. I just pray I will not have to have their heads for this matter."


	38. Strangest Places

**Chapter 38: Strangest Places**

            Yoshimo looked up as Minsc sat down heavily in the bar seat next to him in the Five Flagons. "Is it time for a drink, my ranger and rodent?" the bounty hunter asked in that bright tone of his which always seemed to bring a smile to anyone's face.

            "Minsc and Boo are always ready for a drink," the giant ranger replied, smiling toothily. "And you, little man, are gracious to offer it. I will have a pint of the mead, and if they are still doing any of those small cheese pieces, a bowl of those will suffice for Boo." The hamster squeaked, and Minsc's smile broadened. "Boo likes those, doesn't he?"

            Yoshimo raised an eyebrow, but passed no comment as he gave Thunderburp the order and silently observed how the apparently stupid Minsc had easily manipulated him into buying him a drink. "I think they still do the cheese things," he commented quietly, a frown furrowing his brow.

            "Good. Boo gets fidgety when he is hungry, and biscuits make him portly. He is starting to become too fat for his pouch." Minsc raised the hamster so that the Kara-Turan could see. To Yoshimo, Boo looked exactly the same as he always had, and definitely not fatter. But, then again, he was not mentally tuned to the rodent's mind.

            "I see," Yoshimo commented quietly. There was a pause for a moment. "Have you seen Anomen since this morning?" he asked at last. He wouldn't normally care to admit it, but he was worried about the squire. Except for the encounters with Edwin and the Cowled Wizards earlier, Delryn had not emerged from either his room or his pit of depression since they had returned from the magistrate and his father.

            "No," Minsc replied, also frowning. "He is in mourning. Boo says to let him mourn. Minsc was sorrowful for a long time after Dynaheir's death. I am still sad, of course, but instead of closing up inside my own head, I now kick evil's buttocks in my witch's name." He smiled a sad smile.

            "Perhaps," Yoshimo conceded. "But it seems to me as if he has been closed up inside his head far too long. I think he may need someone to bring him back outside." _And I don't know why that person should be me, but it really seems like it's going to be._

He looked down at his ale – really he had little taste for Western drinks, and he had no idea why he had ordered it – then drained it reluctantly. It was no better than the cider he had tried earlier. "I shall go see him. I have some news to deliver to him anyway, and it may help anyway."

            Without waiting for Minsc to reply, the bounty hunter stood and started up the stairs, heading towards Anomen's room. The door was closed, and he considered barging right in. He reasoned that Delryn would not be too happy if he did as such, and he knocked at the door.

            There was a while before Anomen opened the door to him. He was dressed in just a simple blue tunic, and his hair was sticking in all directions. He looked as if he had been trying to get some sleep, but the bags under his eyes told of his lack of success in his endeavours to achieve the absent bliss. "What is it now?" he asked irritably.

            "I am here to offer my counsel, whether you desire it or not," Yoshimo told him stubbornly, sensing how the cleric was about to slam the door on him. "And do not attempt to shut me out, either physically or emotionally. There are few locks I cannot pick, either on doors or brains."

            Anomen visibly sagged, and he stepped back, leaving the door open for Yoshimo to step in. As the bounty hunter closed the door behind him, he flopped onto the bed, looking more fatigued than he had in a while. "I have little desire to share my problems with you, brigand," he snapped, but the venom was sapped from his voice by sorrow and exhaustion.

            "You still need to," Yoshimo responded quietly, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. "For who else will you go to? Harrian is too wound up with the business of the Cowled Wizards. He is too focused on finding Imoen, and too preoccupied with Jaheira. The druid has her own problems, one of which is our vaunted leader. Minsc? You would go to Minsc with a problem like this? His advice would be to get a hamster."

            Delryn looked ruefully at the Kara-Turan. "And that leaves Haer'Dalis and yourself. You're right; you are the best that is available. It doesn't mean that I am about to open myself up to you. Just because everyone else is unacceptable does not make you ideal."

            "Perhaps, but I also met your sister," Yoshimo reminded him. "Though that may count for little. Tell me… how and when would she have learnt of my homeland and its culture? I was much surprised, for you Westerners seem to be preoccupied with your own existence and dismiss the rest of the world as barbaric."

            This time Anomen smiled, but it was – as Yoshimo had expected – a smile tinged with sadness. "My mother had travelled far before marrying my father. I do not believe she had gone as far as your lands, but she was also a voracious reader. My sister was much like her, and would doubtless have travelled had she not been bound to taking care of my father. My mother taught her much of other societies and cultures beyond our own."

            The bounty hunter regarded him with a curious expression on his face. "You did not learn similar things? I would have thought you home-tutored and thus being educated in the same matters." He had found a hole to burrow into, and intended to make the most of it before Anomen realised what he was doing and slammed back shut.

            "No… even then I was grooming myself for the Order and when my father refused to be my patron, it was the clergy. Helm may encourage knowledge in his Watchers, but there was never a course on other societies." Anomen did not meet Yoshimo's gaze, and he seemed too lost in his own thoughts to catch onto what the bounty hunter was doing.

            "I see," the Kara-Turan mused thoughtfully, nodding. "How do you feel about what happened? Do you regret not taking vengeance on Saerk?" he asked at last, deciding that he had dodged around the matter too much and that it was time to dig into the deep stuff.

            Delryn didn't reply for a few moments. "I… no," he confessed at last, shaking his head. "Harrian was right. Killing for vengeance is murder, not to mention against the tenets of the Order. If Saerk is guilty, he shall meet justice one way or another, be it justice of men or justice of gods."

            "Do you truly believe that?" Yoshimo queried. He knew the look on Anomen's face. It was the expression of a man speaking what he knew was right but which he disagreed with most utterly.

            The cleric sighed, bowing his head. "I do not know if Saerk is guilty," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "But if he is, he has the power to evade the law and shall continue to do so until his death. The Gods may punish him, but… I am not sure if that is enough for me." He looked up at Yoshimo eventually. "Even if he is not guilty, Moira's murderers walk free. And all I can do is sit here idly."

            The bounty hunter paused for a moment, considering how to make his next move. He stepped forwards and perched on the edge of the desk. "Not necessarily," he murmured. "I have spoken to Tellis. He says he has information that may be of use to us. If we meet him in the Sea's Bounty tomorrow, he may give us a link to Moira's murderer, whoever it is."

            Anomen looked up at him sharply. "Why did you not say so before?" he demanded, his eyes blazing as he glared at the bounty hunter, and Yoshimo was a little taken aback as all of the fury the squire felt was directed at him.

            But Yoshimo was a man capable of handling himself, and showed no trace of his surprise. "Because I was unsure if you were in the state of mind where, upon finding out, you would go and murder those responsible. As your friend, I am here to help bring your sister's killers to justice, not to help you end their lives."

            Delryn paused a moment, and his expression softened. "You are my friend?" he asked, rather tonelessly. Yoshimo wasn't sure if he felt surprise, disgust, or pleasure at the declaration, and, to be fair, the bounty hunter wasn't sure how _he _felt about the situation.

            The Kara-Turan shrugged. "I suppose, yes," he admitted. "Or, at the very least, I don't really want to see you get imprisoned or thrown out of that Order you love so much for something as empty as this."

            Anomen regarded him for a few seconds, then they both nodded at each other, leaving the remaining words unspoken. "You have my word that I shall not do as such." Then the solemn expression disappeared, and his slightly mocking smile – which Yoshimo had found so aggravating but was no glad to see on the squire's face – returned. "But may I ask, why is a thief such as yourself so willing to bring fellow brigands to justice?"

            Yoshimo bristled a little, and for a moment regretted having ever extended the hand of friendship towards this rather callous man. Then he remembered what the cleric had been through, and calmed himself down. "I do not see them as fellow brigands," he replied, not bothering to keep some of the sharpness out of his voice. "I am a bounty hunter, not a murderer. I did not know your sister particularly well, but she did not deserve to die. And whilst I may not live by a code of honour like our _esteemed _leader, I do happen to have a moral compass. That moral compass does not agree with killing harmless young ladies."

            Delryn sagged as he heard Yoshimo's words, and his expression flicked to one of regret as he sighed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled at last, scrubbing his face with his hands. "The past few days have been… well, I am sure that the Abyss would hardly be better." He looked up as he realised the Kara-Turan was smiling at him. "What?"

            "I think that is the first time you have apologised to any of us – or at least, to me," the bounty hunter mused, moving for the door. "I suggest you get some sleep now. We shall head for the Sea's Bounty relatively early in the morning, and it would not do for you to be very tired."


	39. Old 'Friends'

**Chapter 39: Old 'Friends'**

            "I do not see why we have to come to this place. There are Shadow Thieves on every corner, and if they get it into their heads to attack us, I do not feel that, formidable as we are, we can honestly face them all," Harrian mumbled sulkily as the party walked through the streets of the Docks District a day later.

            Yoshimo gave him an evaluating look, with only the suggestion of a smile on his face. It was clear that he was trying not to grin outright at their party leader. "Why, are you afraid of them, brave thief?" he asked lightly. At Harrian's withering look, he sighed. "You have never told us of why you hate the Shadow Thieves so."

            Corias exchanged a look with Jaheira, who shrugged. She seemed in slightly higher spirits than she had been before, and although they had made no attempts to continue the conversation they had been having before Anomen had interrupted them, things were far less stilted between them.

            "Let us just say," Harrian replied, talking to Yoshimo haughtily, "that I left Baldur's Gate for a reason. You understand that it would have taken a considerable amount to bring us from the favour we enjoyed as heroes of Baldur's Gate, yes?"

            "Cease your prattling, Harrian," Anomen muttered, shaking his head. He was at the front of the group, striding at an incessant pace that left them all scurrying in his wake. "If you have no desire to be here, then… well, I did not ask for you to accompany me on this task of mine. I shall go and see what Tevvis has to say by myself, if necessary."

            Harrian looked surprised. "No need for that," he responded hurriedly. "I'm here to back you up fully if you want it, I assure you. I just want you to know that… I don't like this. Not one bit. The Shadow Thieves…"

            "Cannot be trusted, yes, I know," Delryn replied, still as frustrated as before and making Harrian take up a defensive grimace. "We are not supposed to trust them. We are just to stay out of their way. If they wanted us dead they would have already tried instead of waiting for us to appear on their turf."

            Anomen spoke sense, so Corias dropped into a sulky silence. Fortunately, they made it to the Sea's Bounty without incident, which was where Harrian really started to stay alert and try to be inconspicuous as they descended the stairs leading to the main tavern area.

            Being inconspicuous was hard when your companions were a Helmite in shining armour, a massive berserker warrior, and a tiefling. But nobody gave them a second glance, and Harrian realised that the patrons were probably used to all manner of strange arrivals.

            Tellis was seated at the bar, looking more nervous than the shifty informant usually did, and greeted them with his jumpy little chuckle that made Anomen visibly bristle with irritation. "You're here, heh heh… wasn't sure if you were going to be coming. You wants information, right?"

            Jaheira nodded sternly. "We want whatever you have regarding –"

            She got no further, for the cloaked man sitting next to Tellis looked up at that moment and removed the cowl of his robe, fixing her with a broad smile. Harrian recognised the tilt of his head and the posture of his seat as that of a nobleman, but the state of his clothes seemed to suggest he had fallen upon bad times. His dark hair was scruffy and dirty, and his cheeks somewhat hollow. But the smile on his face, the bright, too-cheerful smile, sent a chill up Corias' spine.

            Jaheira flinched only a very little as she looked at the man's face, and this went unnoticed by anyone else as the robed man began to talk, his voice still too cheerful. "Jaheira, my darling, so good to see you. Won't you come sit and chat a while?" he asked lightly, the smile broadening so much that Harrian subconsciously placed a hand on the hilt of his longsword.

            The druid's brow furrowed as she regarded him. "I...I am sorry? Do I know you?" she asked blankly, which eased Corias's spirits somewhat.

            There was a flash of anger in the man's eyes which was subdued instantly, and the voice became quite sorrowful. "You do not remember? Ah, but this is understandable. It has been years since we last spoke. Far too long, really." He shook his head as if this was indeed a great loss for the realms.

            Jaheira's face hardened a little. "Forgive me, but I will require a little more information. Your name again?" she asked, her voice as falsely cheerful as the man's, and Harrian felt himself tensing up once again.

            The man coughed surreptitiously, then looked firmly at her. "My name...is Ployer, Baron Ployer?" he told her lightly, then his expression darkened a little as her face remained blank. "Of the Calimshan Ployers? Come now, you must have some inkling!" he insisted as Jaheira's expression stayed emotionless.

            The druid shook her head, apparently nonplussed. "No...no, I am terribly sorry but your face is unfamiliar. Perhaps if you told me what you do..." she suggested, and from the subtle shift in her tone, everyone else could see that there were undercurrents here they seemed to be missing.

            The man leapt to his feet, livid in a moment. "My name means nothing? Nothing?" he raged, practically hopping with anger. "I am Baron Ployer! PLOYER! You ruined me! Not remembering is an even greater insult! You are why I am destitute today!" he continued in a shriek.

            "You and your Harper kin accused me of breeding slaves in Calimshan! My businesses in Athkatla were taken! I was made a pauper and you do not even remember?!" he continued, still shaking with rage and frustration. He took a step forwards, but Harrian, now with his grip firmly on his longsword's hilt, half-unsheathed it meaningfully, and Ployer stopped.

            Jaheira smiled tightly as she regarded the former Baron. "I remember well, but I wanted you to say it, and I wanted others to hear," she told him lightly, folding her arms across her chest. "Quite the outburst, Mister Ployer, I assume you are still at odds with your new life?"

            Ployer came to a halt and spluttered for a moment, glaring daggers at the druid. "You...you..." He stopped, and regained control of his voice. "This is the type of insolence I was talking about! It is not enough that you ruin a man, you must also berate him!"

            "MISTER Ployer, I wanted you _dead_ instead of merely humiliated! The courts did not seem to think death was warranted, so they claimed your assets instead," Jaheira spat back, her own venom beating the Calimshite's easily. "That you live in poverty is gratifying, if you must live at all!" Then she calmed down somewhat, and merely glared. "I would suggest you change your tone. I am not in a mood for giving charity to old slavers."

            Ployer chuckled in a way that Harrian did not like in the slightest. "Haven't lost your fire, I see. Still a Harper? This scrawny lout one too?" he mused, nodding at Harrian, who gave him his own glare – insignificant in comparison to Jaheira's, but of similar venom. "That fellow Khalid you were once with was a better compliment. Is he here as well?" Ployer continued, ignoring the swashbuckler's look.

            A muscle in the corner of Jaheira's jaw tightened, as did her grip on her quarterstaff. "He is none of your concern. If you value your teeth you will not speak that name again. You dirty it," she spat virulently.

            Ployer hesitated a moment, then backed down somewhat. "Uh, yes. Very well." He coughed lightly, then looked at the other five. He started somewhat at the sight of Minsc and Haer'Dalis, but strove to remain oblivious to their odd presence. "How about your companions, Jaheira? Do they count themselves among the Harpers as well?"

            Harrian's head snapped up to glower at Ployer. "I am not a member of the Harpers, _sir_, though I would accept the offer if it was made," he lied easily, managing to stick enough venom in the 'sir' to get his point across.

            Ployer regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should include you in this matter then." He fixed his look on the druid. "But first... Jaheira, my dear, I have not found you by accident. You ruined me, slandered my name."

            Jaheira frowned. "Well, the slander is going a bit far. You actually _were_ a slaver, you know. It's not slander if it's proven," she responded easily, and Harrian found himself grinning at her.

            Ployer glowered at her. "That is beside the point!" he raged. "What matters is that you ruined me, and now I'm going to ruin you!" At that, a trio of mages and black and green robes entered the tavern via dimension doors. Harrian's sword was in his hand in a second, and Yoshimo had an arrow in his bow a moment earlier, but before they could react, the mages muttered incantations under their breaths, and a shining red light engulfed Jaheira.

            Harrian leapt at the nearest one with the intention of skewering him against the bar, but just as soon as they arrived, they disappeared, and the swashbuckler found himself swinging at thing air. He stumbled, and grabbed Tellis – who had been watching the whole display with near panic – to stop himself from falling.

            Jaheira, however, was looking even worse for wear, and Anomen had to take a step forwards to prevent her from slumping to the ground. She looked up at the former baron, shock on her face. "What have you just done, Ployer?! Speak!" she commanded, but her voice lacked some of its usual strength.

            Ployer's voice became excessively cheerful. "It is my gift to you. You will be slowly destroyed, just as my family was.  It is my curse, my nasty, nasty curse. A little something I had made just for you," he told her, his tone becoming a little bit of a sing-song. "I may not see your lingering death, but I will smile, knowing it will happen. Tonight I sleep beneath rags so I could afford this wasting death for you..."

            Jaheira's expression became incredulous. "Nobody made you a slaver; you just loved the profit! Now you blame those that caught you because you cannot take responsibility? You are a weak, weak man!" she spat, though even weaker than before.

            The baron grinned. "Ah, but I am a weak, weak man that will live, while you are a strong woman that will die. Give my regards to Belgrade when you see him." Ployer laughed almost manically, then tossed a bag of gold at the panicking Tellis. Harrian lunged at the baron again, but once more, before he could reach him, Ployer was gone in a dimension door.


	40. Information Hunt

**Chapter 40: Information Hunt**

            Everyone looked at Tellis, holding the bag of gold. The informant stared at them for a moment, then everyone leapt into action, and the little man found himself in Corias's iron grip. The swashbuckler had somehow sheathed his sword and pulled the dagger from his boot in less than a second, and the blade was now threatening the soft skin of Tellis's neck. "Give me one reason," the thief whispered viciously, so low that only the littler man could heard him, "why I shouldn't slit your throat here and now."

            Tellis gave the little chuckle of his, and closed his eyes. "I didn't know he was going to do that," he croaked. "He's been her for months on end… when Yoshimo and the Helmite came in here a few days ago, he saw them and knew that they were travelling with the druid… all he wanted me to do was to draw you all here… I promise, I didn't even know his name or what he wanted to do…"

            "So you don't know where he might be? Anything about the mages that helped him? A single thing that could be of use in tracking Ployer down?" Harrian murmured. Tellis shook his head fearfully. Corias shrugged. "Too bad," he whispered, and the informant felt the pressure of the blade in his neck increase… then stop.

            Harrian looked at the gauntleted hand that stopped him from slitting the informant's throat, and looked up to see Anomen's soft brown eyes fixed on his own. The cleric pulled the dagger from his leader's hand and slipped it inside his armour easily, before pushing Harrian away and holding Tellis in his own hard grip. "And what of my sister and her murderers? Do you have information, or did you just want to draw the Lady Jaheira here?"

            Tellis grimaced. "I… I have no information," he admitted, his eyes still closed tight. "But I can get it. I can find out; it won't be hard. Free of charge! As… as my favour to you! I can get information to get whoever it was in jail, I promise you!"

            Anomen regarded him for a long moment, then released the informant. "See that you do. If you do not, I shall hunt you down and…" He paused a moment, considering a suitable threat. "And allow my friend Mr Corias here to deal with you," he decided at last.

            Tellis looked at Harrian, who still had a murderous look in his eyes, then gulped before running faster than he ever had had to up the stairs.

            Harrian hurried to Jaheira's side. The druid was resting against a tabletop, taking deep breaths to try and steady herself. She looked up at him to see the concern in his eyes, and shook her head. "By the horns of Silvanus, I'll plant him beneath the Stones of Aisath if I...if I..." Her voice trailed off, and she lowered her head again.

            He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she steadied herself against him. "Are you alright?" Harrian asked quietly, feeling a small panic bubble up inside his stomach. What had this Ployer done?

            Jaheira shook her head. "No, I...I'm fine. I just felt a little strange for a moment." She paused for a moment, then anger flashed in her eyes. "That...that fat excuse for a slaver, he's cursed me! Damn him!" she swore.

            Yoshimo shifted behind them. "What can be done?" the Kara-Turan asked lightly, frowning somewhat. He evidently felt highly irritated and maybe a little responsible that it was his informant who had lead them here for Ployer to curse Jaheira.

            "We can track him down and force him to remove it, that's what," Harrian murmured, his brow furrowed.

            Jaheira nodded at last. "That may be my only option. If it was tailored to me it might resist removal by normal means. I doubt Ployer would have done this if the solution were simple," the druid pointed out.

            "Then we should find this Ployer immediately. Any thoughts on where to look?" Anomen piped up, seemingly calmer. Harrian looked pointedly at him, and the cleric sighed, then returned the dagger to the thief.

            Jaheira thought for a moment. "I have a few options. Ployer mentioned that he lived in squalor, suggesting he may be in the poor section of the city." She shrugged. "Not likely to find him quick though."

            Yoshimo looked up. "The mages with him wore odd colours that might be traceable. Ask at the Government Building, as all magic is regulated in Athkatla. If they will talk..." The bounty hunter shrugged as all eyes turned to him.

            Jaheira nodded, then continued. "He also mentioned Belgrade, a… merchant that helped expose Ployer. He frequents the Copper Coronet, and the bartender Bernard might know his whereabouts."

            Harrian frowned at the tone the druid used for the word 'merchant', but made no comment. This was clearly Harper business. "To the government district then. Some clerk will know these mages," he said firmly.

            The druid nodded again. "Very well, though I should like to try and find Belgrade eventually. It has been..." She stopped and coughed before continuing, "...it has been some time since we talked."

            "We shall… but we shall have to be _very _careful when we return to the Copper Coronet," Harrian pointed out, frowning a little. Haer'Dalis looked confused whilst Anomen grimaced, Yoshimo smiled tightly, and Minsc nodded firmly.

* *

            Corneil looked aghast as they entered the Council of Six building and approached him. "It has not been three days, you impatient beasts!" he snapped at them. "I told you that we would come to you when we had your Imoen, and you –"

            Harrian held up a hand to forestall any further comments. "This is nothing about Imoen. We are here in on almost-official business. I'm looking for a mage, or a group of mages. They may wear green and black robes as a uniform?"

            Corneil glared at him and straightened up to gaze the thief in the eyes. "I know of no such robes, though it would not be your business if I did. The Cowled Wizards will deal with such people. Leave, and ask me no more of such things," he insisted and, before Harrian could say more, strode off.

            Haer'Dalis stood next to the rogue as their leader watched Corneil walk off. "That did not seem particularly… effective, my raven," the tiefling mused, and met Harrian's scathing expression easily.

Corias paused a long moment before striding off and out of the building. "Fine," he mumbled, grimacing. "We'll go to the Copper Coronet. I'd just rather avoid getting into a fight with some unknown mages if possible," he continued, knowing his bad mood stemmed from a feeling of ineffectiveness against Jaheira's curse.

So lost in his thoughts was he almost walked into a man in mages robes… of green and black. "Excuse me..." the man started, and Harrian almost jumped at the sound of his voice. "You may call me Terrece. I know of whom you seek, the mages in black and green? What is your business with my fellows?" Terrece glanced around briefly, then continued surreptitiously. "We are...available for hire."

Harrian examined the tall mage for a second before folding his arms across his chest. "That Corneil inside seemed to know nothing about such things," he replied slowly, a frown deep on his face.

"It is not his business to know, or perhaps he just pretends to not know." Terrece shrugged nonchalantly. "I am not he. I know of them, and would relay your words if you wish?" he offered lightly.

Harrian groaned. "You speak in circles like a halfling! Tell me plain if you have something to say!" he ordered.

The other man smiled thinly, then nodded. "As you wish. Our group was directed to harm one of your number, though it was just business. I am here to speak an offer of… counter-employment. We performed a service for your enemy, but that contract has expired... though we have been asked to perform another task in the future."

Terrece paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, and Harrian was about to prompt him when he continued. "We find Mister Ployer distasteful, even in comparison to others of his ilk. It would not disturb us to...make other arrangements around that task in the future. You will find him eventually, and we are to be there. Or perhaps we are not. That is the offer I make today."

Harrian nodded firmly. This was sounding better and better. He had enough respect for mages to not want to go head to head with the power of an unknown trio. "An interesting offer. Might I inquire as to what your absence might cost?" This _was _the city of coin, after all.

Terrece considered this a moment. "For not participating in Ployer's little exercise we might charge... oh... one thousand gold pieces. This is a much lower figure than the original service cost," he pointed out. "You may ask what guarantees you have that we will not turn on you in a likewise fashion... there is no guarantee but our dislike for Ployer."

Harrian smiled. "I can understand that, and I like those odds, but would five hundred be enough?" He looked into his bag of gold meaningfully, and realised with a start that they were running exceedingly low on funds.

Terrece gave a quick bow as Corias handed over the gold. "It will serve adequately. I look forward to...not...working with you or Mister Ployer again. Good day." With that, the mage glanced around surreptitiously then headed off, clearly not dull enough to use a dimension door in plain daylight in magic-fearing Athkatla.

Harrian turned to his friends, a most predatory grin on his face. "I like this much more now," he admitted, then smiled genuinely at Jaheira. "And now, on to the Copper Coronet. Let us see if we can find this Belgrade of yours."


	41. Return to the Copper Coronet

**Chapter 41: Return to the Copper Coronet**

"What if they don't let us in?" Anomen hissed, shifting uncomfortably as the party stood in front of the Copper Coronet. "They were fairly… firm in their ejection of us last time," he pointed out.

"They'll let us in," Harrian told him firmly. "And if they don't want to, then we'll have to be somewhat… persuasive, yes?" And before the cleric could offer a reply, the thief had opened the door and stepped in, Jaheira close behind him. Anomen grimaced, then he and the others followed them.

A bouncer, recognisable by Delryn as one he had punched in the face during the barroom brawl that had banned them from the tavern, approached Harrian and placed a halberd in front of him, barring his path. "I believe you are banned from here, mate," he drawled dangerously.

The armoured man had not been expecting much of a resistance from the shorter man, and thus he was rather taken aback to feel the prick of a dagger sticking in him. He looked down to see the blade stuck in a chink of his armour.

Corias had moved so surreptitiously that the bouncer had not noticed, and now the thief wore an innocent expression on his face. "This will only take a moment," Harrian assured him sweetly. The bouncer gulped then nodded and backed off, feeling particularly fond of his liver that day.

Harrian smiled too brightly at Jaheira, then started towards the counter where the large bartender, named Bernard, was standing, polishing some glasses. Harrian felt surprised to see that the Copper Coronet actually had clean glasses. "Can I have a word, friend?" he asked him quietly.

Bernard looked up brightly. "What can I do for..." His voice trailed off as he saw the druid hovering over the thief's shoulder. "Jaheira? Jaheira, no games now, you look like you've seen yer own ghost, or are about to. Young lady, you look about ninety! Are you ill?"

Jaheira shook her head, resting more heavily on the counter than Harrian would have liked, and he resisted the urge to support her himself. "I'm...I'm fine, Bernard. I just need..."

"The hell you are!" the bartender insisted, setting the glass down and glaring at a surprised Harrian. "These louts you travelling with running you ragged? I'll have them fishing for shark in the bay with no net if they..."

Jaheira looked up, and spoke more forcefully this time. "Bernard, I'm _fine_. I just need… need some information." She took a deep breath, and grimaced before continuing. "I need to find Belgrade."

Bernard shook his head sadly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jaheira, but he's not around anymore." The bartender's face grew thoughtful and a little nostalgic. "I aint had the pleasure of his company in nigh unto..."

"_Bernard_!" the druid snapped, bringing him back to reality. "Bernard, this is important. I need to contact him. I know you can connect with the network when you need to so..." Her voice trailed off meaningfully.

_The network? I thought this __Belgrade__ was just a merchant? _Harrian thought, frowning, but said nothing.

Bernard's expression grew more sorrowful. "Oh, Jaheira, you misunderstand me. Belgrade, he's… he's dead."

The druid's emotionless mask crumpled, and the shock on her face resounded so deeply within Harrian that he got the most horrible sense of déjà vu. Jaheira stared at the counter for a long moment, her expression still shocked, until, with a supreme effort, she slipped the mask back on again. "D… dead? When?" For all her efforts, her voice still faltered on the first word.

Bernard shifted uncomfortably. "A while back. He got sickly just like..." Realisation struck, and the bartender looked horrified. "Oh my, just like you. What is it, a plague that only affects Harpers? I knew your lot would anger the wrong god or..."

_Ah, so this __Belgrade__ was a Harper, was he? I wonder why Jaheira told me he was a merchant…_ Harrian mused quietly, then shrugged. _Well, it is of little matter or consequence now. She probably just… didn't want to compromise Harper security, or the like, _he reasoned.

Jaheira was back in forceful mode again. "Bernard, please. I need to know where they found Belgrade." She took a deep, slightly shuddering breath. "I also need to know if you have seen Baron Ployer."

Bernard thought a moment. "Found Belgrade in the east slums. Too many tracks to tell if he was dumped there." The bartender went back to polishing a glass, and his tone grew scathing. "And Ployer? He aint welcome here. Damn glad you exposed him, Jaheira."

Jaheira nodded, but Harrian could see another weight had been placed on her shoulders. "I see... Thank you, Bernard. I... I really must be going now." She straightened up, faltered a moment, but regained her balance without having to take aid from Harrian as he took a step forward to offer it.

Bernard nodded gruffly. "You take care now. Please."

The party took a table wordlessly. "So, this Belgrade was found in the east slums. Ployer will most likely be staying somewhere nearby," Harrian mused thoughtfully, scratching at his goatee. He looked over at Jaheira. "Do you need to rest, are you tired?"

"I am fine. I do not want to wait around any longer than necessary. The sooner we find Ployer, the sooner I will be free of this damn curse," Jaheira insisted, though the fatigued tone of her voice belied her words.

Harrian nodded firmly and looked at the other four. "Right. I want all of you to go scouting out the east side; look for houses Ployer could be staying in. If you can confirm where he's currently residing, that's great, but don't run into him if you can avoid it. And… do it quickly."

The others were gone in moments, leaving Harrian and Jaheira alone at the table. The druid looked at him sceptically. "And may I ask just why you are sending them out and leaving the two of us here waiting for them?" she asked quietly.

He leant over towards her, a frown on his face. "Because you are far more tired than you are letting on, and I am not about to allow you to exert yourself. The others will find Ployer, then we will go and deal with him." She opened her mouth to protest, but he pushed on. "Hey, you never listen to my role as party leader. Do so for the first time now," he continued, a small smile on his face.

The smile died as, before Jaheira could reply, a figure approached the table they were standing at. "Well, well, well. Look who's dragged their sorry carcass back in here. I thought they chucked you out, boy?"

Harrian grimaced, and looked up to see Amalas standing there, practically managing to swagger when he was standing still. A look of disgust replaced the grimace. "Great. You again," the thief groaned.

Amalas grabbed Corias by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. "Yep. Me. We didn't get to finish it last time, as your priest friend whacked you over the head." He grinned at Harrian's surprised expression. "Or did he knock the memory right out of you?"

"Really, now is not the time," Corias insisted, keeping his voice low and not rising to the bait. He needed to have a bit of a word with Anomen later, but later was later and now was now, and now he had a rabid psycho after him.

He was about to go for his dagger again and convince Amalas that he spoke the truth, when a podgy hand placed itself on the cutthroat's shoulder. "Leave them alone, or you'll be made _unwelcome _here," Bernard told him quietly.

Amalas glared daggers at the bartender, and glanced over at Lehtinan behind the bar, who shrugged and nodded at Bernard. The ruffian scowled, then released Harrian and slunk off back to his cronies foully.

Jaheira nodded her thanks to Bernard, and the bartender merely gave them a look before returning to his place. There was clearly some unspoken agreement here between Harper and bartender that Harrian had missed. He looked around shiftily. "It probably _is _better if we wait outside. This place is… erm… unwelcoming."


	42. Million Miles Away

_Author's note: One or two of these inmates of Spellhold are made up. Mostly because I had little idea who the hell was originally in there. So sue me._

**Chapter 42: Million Miles Away**

Imoen sighed as Kirith pulled the pile of matchsticks towards him, giggling inanely as he counted out the small sticks as if they were valuables from a dragon's hoard. She had forgotten that it was a bad idea to play cards against someone whose mind hopped around from future to past to present, and occasionally was under enough control to pop forwards a few minutes and find out what everyone's hand was.

"Mine… all mine," the slightly insane elven wizard crooned, starting to form a little tower out of the matchsticks, the game all but forgotten right then. Dradeel, wolf-man, who had his good days and bad and was currently – much to Imoen's delight – on one of his better days, exchanged a tired glance with the pink-haired mage, and she rolled her eyes.

The fourth person, little Dili, who had right then decided to transform herself into an Orc, pouted and threw the tiny cards down onto the table. "Not fair! Not fair! You cheat, Kirith, you always cheat!"

The elf looked up at the shape-shifter, stunned beyond all belief. "Kirith no cheat!" he insisted, panicked. "Kirith just… Kirith _sees. _Is not Kirith's fault if Kirith _sees _your cards, hmm?" The mage's expression was so doleful that Imoen couldn't quite understand how Dili could continue her rant.

Oh, that was it, she was a rather psychotic little shape-shifting wizard. Well, Imoen said 'little' – that was just because, as far as she knew, Dili's original form was that of a little girl. Truth be told, Imoen had no way of knowing whether Dili was actually young human or aged dragon. The only thing she _was _certain of was that she was insane.

Imoen wished she were wrong, but she wasn't. Everyone here was insane – either they had been brought there like that or, like Kirith, had been driven to it by the intense surroundings Spellhold offered.

After Irenicus' dungeon, Spellhold was a walk in the park for Imoen. It was still highly unpleasant to spend day after day with all manner of 'magical deviants', however. Oh, she was allowed to go to and fro from her cell as she pleased within the designated hours and to the designated areas, so she was hardly locked up constantly, but she was still a prisoner, and that weighed heavily on her mind.

Dili had stormed out of the little library, now as an Ogre – it was, it appeared, monster day for her – and Kirith had retreated to a corner of the room, still trying to make a little tower out of matchsticks.

Dradeel was looking quizzically at her. Imoen was glad of his presence right then, but at the same time his sanity pained her, for she knew that in maybe as soon as an hour he'd go back to cowering in the corner, screaming 'Bad dog!' at anyone who dared come near him.

But right then, he was fine, and for that she was most grateful. "What is it?" she asked, her customarily bright smile crossing her face at his tentative and inquisitive expression. Other than the little gnome Tiax, whom she and Harrian had encountered briefly at Baldur's Gate, Dradeel was the only person at Spellhold she knew from Before.

"You're seeming… jumpy," he told her. "As if something's about to happen…"

That was another thing. Every inmate at Spellhold had some defining feature that declared their craziness. Imoen was sure she had no such thing, but the others seemed sensitive to her moods, and whenever she got a little nervous or anxious, they were convinced that something big was about to happen.

Right on cue, loud voices could be heard from the corridor leading to the small library, and both she and Dradeel looked around to see just who was coming.

"…Supervisor, I am more than capable of finding my way to a damned library! This isn't the largest of prisons and I'm not, despite your beliefs, _totally _brain-dead, so get out of my way and let me continue!"

"Corneil, there are parts of this prison it is not safe to go. You are a stranger to these inmates, and some of them have very real powers that can be dangerous, _especially _when you try to take one of the prisoners away!"

"If you take Tiax, He will reward you when He has reached His final destiny! Ruling the world may take several powerful right-hand men to –"

"Shut up, gnome."

"You see what I have to deal with, day in, day out? Tiax, get the hell back to your cell _right _now, or you'll be fed wood for the rest of the week!"

"Really. As far as I could see, Supervisor, wood, or some equivalent of it, was what the inmates here eat anyway. You had best not mistreated her, for she is very important… and if the Bhaalspawn destroys the scroll for her, the blame shall be placed solely on _your _head."

"This may not be a holiday camp, Corneil, but it's not a torture dungeon. These people are dangerous, and are treated as such. I still disapprove of the idea of taking one of my inmates back to the mainland! Think of the message it will leave!"

"Tiax sees that the wizards are weak. This shall help Tiax when He comes to rule all! You wizards shall fall before His might!"

"Shut _up_, gnome! Supervisor, I don't _care _what you think of taking an inmate away from this place. The orders come from the Grandmaster himself! This scroll we speak of is far more important than any inmate. Besides, after reading everything on this girl, it seems to me as if she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was taken out of over-zealousness. Her companions have since bought a magical licence and, apart from this scroll-snatching, have hardly been disruptive."

"I'd call scroll-snatching rather disruptive, Corneil –"

Just then, the two wizards and a small gnome turned the corner to step into the library. The first two were both red in the face from yelling at each other, and then realised that there was a chance they had been talking too loud.

The first one, Corneil, met Imoen's eyes coolly. "You are Imoen, correct?" he asked lightly, straightening his robe and regaining some of the posture he had had before arguing with the Spellhold supervisor.

She folded her arms across the chest, meeting his gaze easily. "I am. I'm guessing that I'm the one you guys were screaming about back there?" Her usual teasing smile crossed her face as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"There you are! Now do what you have to and stop disrupting my asylum!" the supervisor shrieked, glaring at Corneil. He gave Dradeel, who was watching everything with a most inquisitive look, an evil glare, then strode off.

Corneil watched him go. "Come with me," he instructed Imoen curtly. She had been in this system for a few weeks already, and was quite aware that possible offers were merely orders to be followed.

Trying not to throw a backwards glance, she walked with the mage as they started out of the library and headed through the corridors leading out of the prison complex of the asylum. Her heart was racing as she considered the possibility of what Corneil had said. Was it true? Had Harrian managed to strike a deal that got her out of this place.

In the end, curiosity overcame common sense. "What is happening? What has happened?" She paused, then took a deep breath before plunging in head-first. "Am I getting out of this place."

Corneil grimaced. "Yes, girl, you are. Corias has bargained for your freedom." He turned and glared daggers at her. "But yon supervisor is right. If anyone ever hears that you were freed from this place by us, repercussions shall be swift and painful. This place has a reputation to keep up. You are only leaving because of politics."

They continued in silence, Imoen trying to stop herself from grinning and whooping at the knowledge that she was leaving Spellhold. _I knew he'd do it. I knew he wouldn't leave me here. Now all that's left to worry about is…_

The moment she finished that thought, what she was supposed to worry about became a very real worry. The most dangerous of inmates were kept in the area of the prison they were walking through right then. Including… him.

And he was, right then, being led back into a cell. Despite how badly treated Irenicus had to have been, he still stood proud and tall, and did not seem very dominated by the oppressive place Spellhold was.

But he saw Imoen and Corneil easily, and his placid face suddenly turned into a mask of fury as he realised what was going on. "You! What are you doing?" he demanded, starting to pull away from the two mages that flanked him, but was constrained temporarily by the magical chains that held him.

Corneil swore under his breath. "Keep him secure!" he bellowed, then grabbed Imoen. "Resist and we both die," he hissed under his breath, then started to chant quickly. He really hadn't wanted to dimension door here in the asylum, for magical wards made such an action exceedingly dangerous, but he felt he didn't have much of a choice. Unlike the other Cowled Wizards, he had not underestimated Irenicus, and knew him to be under-guarded. He clearly had designs on the girl, that much was apparent from when he had been taken in.

Irenicus swore loudly in elven as the wizard and the girl disappeared. "You fools!" he barked at the two mages who had restrained him. "You see what you have done? You absolute _fools_!"

The two Cowled Wizards slunk back, whimpering piteously and begging for forgiveness. Irenicus had manipulated them to be under his boot early on, for his plans to take over Spellhold would need two such as him. But they had taken their actions too far, and now, he was at a most serious disadvantage.

They died with little ceremony, killed by some of the oldest and most potent magics on Faerûn. Irenicus, despite himself, gained very little pleasure from their deaths. He had not lost; far from it. His plan would just need a little bit of… tweaking.


	43. Cures and Curses

**Chapter 43: Curses and Cures**

Ployer's place of residence had not been particularly hard to find. Although there were many derelict buildings in the Slums district, only a few were on the east side, and quick investigation of those by Anomen, Yoshimo, Haer'Dalis and Minsc had revealed which one the former baron was hiding in. Harrian and Jaheira had been lead there, and they were now crouched outside, wondering how to go about it.

"Boo says we should just charge in and kick Ployer's butt until he relieves the curse!" Minsc declared, a little too loudly, so Haer'Dalis shushed him quickly. The ranger looked apologetic, then shrugged. "Minsc agrees. This evil man deserves nothing less."

"Although our hound's phrasing leaves much to be desired, I agree with him. Sometimes a simple display of brute force can be more effective than all of the eloquence of the plains," Haer'Dalis insisted.

"We need not kill this man," Anomen interjected adamantly. "If he refuses to comply to our wishes, then by all means, a display of force may convince him otherwise, but first and foremost he should have the chance to do otherwise."

Harrian considered this for a moment. "He's unlikely to agree to comply with our wishes, as he thinks he has these mages on his side. Once he sees that it's six against one, he's likely to be more.. receptive." The thief glanced over at Jaheira. "What do you think?"

The druid shrugged. "Ployer should have been killed a long time ago." She paused, then took a deep breath. "But we shall see what happens. Signing his death warrant early on is an inflexible plan."

Minsc stood up. "So then let us plant our feet on evil's buttocks!" he declared loudly, then walked over and kicked Ployer's door down with minimal ceremony. Harrian shrugged as they started towards the opening. It was less subtle than picking a lock, but just as effective.

Ployer all but ignored them as they entered, merely acknowledging them with a glance. He stood at a desk, writing some note. Once he had finished, he finally decided to pay attention to the massive berserker warrior, the dangerous-looking tiefling, the stoic cleric, the quietly deadly bounty hunter, the angry and wounded druid, and the murderous thief.

His eyes lit up at last as he looked at the druid. "Ah, Jaheira. I see you have dragged your sorry soon-to-be carcass here to see me. Are you here to beg? Perhaps to grovel? I don't mind.  I have even cleaned my shoes," he told her, rubbing his hands together nauseatingly.

Jaheira's eyes filled with fury as she took a threatening step forwards. "Despicable…" She stopped, coughed, then regained control of herself. "…Despicable wretch! You knew I would come here?"

Ployer shrugged, his eyes alight with the glee vengeance brought him. "Of course! I am your only link to life, so what choice do you have." He waved a hand impatiently at the floor. "Come now, grovel for your life before me. I haven't got all day!"

The druid gave him another hateful glare, and if looks could kill, the former baron would already be dead. "I am… I am not here to grovel, Ployer. You would sooner get that from my corpse!" she told him, still burning with an inner fury that Harrian knew he would never want to be on the receiving end of.

Ployer laughed a little insanely. "And I will, unless I get the satisfaction I want now. Come now, I can cure you if you drop your pretence of dignity and get your sickly carcass on its knees!" His voice then became a little threatening and most instructing.

"I…" Jaheira coughed, and it was clear that the curse was getting a greater hold of her. "_I am not here to grovel_! I may be weak, even dying, but you _won't_ get that! I have come to take what is mine! I…" She coughed weakly again. "will be free of you… of your…" Her voice trailed off as her legs weakened, and Harrian took a step forward to support her.

The delight on the baron's face was insurmountable, and made the rage within Harrian start to bubble up even more. "You are about to collapse, and cannot even speak. Now, of course, you will have to grovel in pantomime. What could be more degrading than that?"

Harrian could see that Jaheira was in no state to argue, and he drew his sword, taking a threatening step forward as he pointed it at Ployer's throat. "She may be ill, but I am not! You _will _end this curse, and you _will _leave her be!" Although his voice held all of the fury he felt at this situation, he remained calm and quiet, which seemed even more dangerous than shouting at the baron. "Am I understood?"

Ployer laughed, shaking his head and adding fuel to the thief's flaming fury. "Your threats are nothing. You came expecting an old man in hiding, but I hoped Jaheira would find me because by the time she did she would be utterly crippled!" His chuckle echoed around the bare and derelict room.

"I would enjoy crushing her, but I will settle for you!" he continued dangerously. "Meet my hirelings! My last favours paid for them, and they are well worth it! Kill them!" The last word was an order, but only silence met his words. "Uh… attack!" There was still nothing. "I command you! Kill them…! Where are you?"

For the mages had been bought, and there were no allies for Ployer. Harrian smiled an evil and most predatory grin. "That's the trouble with hired hands; if a better deal comes along they may just jump ship," he told Ployer apologetically.

"But...no!" He turned to face Jaheira, who was standing weakly, a small smile on her face at the predicament Ployer was then in. "Damn you, it's happened again!" he raged at her "Everyone against me, everyone!"

Harrian's face became an emotionless mask as he glared at the baron. "And now we will talk deal," he told Ployer calmly. "You _will _remove the curse, and you _will _leave and never return. Is that clear?"

The former baron's expression darkened as he slunk by Corias and towards the door. "Aye, you have won today," he muttered bitterly, "but someday I will…"

Harrian's grabbed Ployer by the shoulder in an iron grip. "Someday you will do _nothing_!" he snapped dangerously, his voice still low and threatening. "Not if you want to live past tomorrow! Do we have a deal?!"

The baron sagged with defeat. "Very well." He threw a lock of hair at Jaheira, and she fumbled before catching it. "Here, this is the personal item used to curse her. I took it from that fop, Belgrade. She should be fine with it returned. Now get out...get out." His voice was weak, but he still had an inner fury as he pointed at the door.

Harrian nodded. "You've kept up your side of the bargain, so now I'll keep up mine," he said, and nodded at the door. Slowly, the others started out, Anomen supporting Jaheira as best he could, and Corias took up the rear.

He was about the close the door behind him when he stopped. There was nothing to stop Ployer from coming back and threatening Jaheira again in the future, when he might have more power and more resources. And he deserved to pay for what he had done; as it was, he had emerged virtually unscathed.

As Corias turned, the rest of his party members looked to see what he was doing. "On second thoughts," the thief said quietly, standing immobile before Ployer. "I may just kill you anyway."

The former baron leapt up to defend himself in any way possible, but he had not anticipated the attack that came. He had expected Harrian to lunge at him with a sword, or to beat him with his hands.

He had not expected the thief to, almost casually, launch a poisoned dagger at him. It hit Ployer in the neck, and as the blood started to flow from the wound, the poison started to flow through his system.

Harrian didn't even bother to watch him die as he took a final step out and closed the door behind him. There was a weak noise from within, a cross between a groan and a whimper, and then silence.

All of the others except for Haer'Dalis and Jaheira were staring at him with a mixture of fear and disgust, Anomen most of all. There was a long silence before the cleric found his voice. "You just murdered him in cold blood," he murmured under his breath.

Harrian shrugged. "Yes," he admitted, frowning a little. "The man is a threat that cannot possibly be allowed to live. He was a slaver, and a murderer. He did not deserve any mercy that we might have shown him."

Jaheira nodded. "No deals for slayers of Harpers," she said quietly, and the others, despite any reservations that they may have had, fell silent as the party started to troop through the slums district, by silent vote heading back to the Five Flagons.

Harrian fell into step beside her. There was a part of him, a deep, buried part that applauded his killing Ployer… and the fact that the dark side of him was so in favour of cold-blooded murder shook him right to the very core.

"I feel… weak, but better," the druid told him at last, not looking at him. "I thank you for helping me through this. You have earned my gratitude and… and I should really get a full day of rest." As Harrian merely kept his head bowed, more than a little haunted at what he had done, Jaheira finally faced him. "If you had not killed Ployer, I would have."

Harrian didn't reply to her final comment, but he did meet her gaze. "We will get to an inn as soon as we can. With the curse gone you should heal normally," he told her blandly, his mind still in turmoil.

"I certainly hope so. Such weakness…" Jaheira shook her head. "I swear, if I meet his like again I'll not let the courts spare him." There was a long silence. "I'll… I'll be better after a night's rest."

Harrian thought for a moment. There was something trivial at the back of his mind dogging him, and it felt good to be able to worry about small, unimportant things… but he still had to get it off his chest. "Ployer said that he had taken the lock of hair from this 'merchant' Belgrade," Harrian mused. "What was he doing with a lock of your hair?"

Jaheira smiled, and Corias was glad he had managed to touch on a subject that didn't bring only sadness and bitterness. "I presumed you guessed. Yes, Belgrade was a Harper, the same as myself. I… knew him before Khalid."

Harrian considered this for a moment, but could come up with no apt reply. "We should probably go and all get some rest before we worry about anything more," was all he said at last as the six of them wandered through the great streets of Athkatla.


	44. Take your Time

**Chapter 44: Take Your Time**

When Jaheira awoke, she wasn't instantly aware of where she was. She remembered veritably falling into bed at the Five Flagons, still so weak from the curse that Harrian had had to help her most of the way, and then nothing but a deep, blissful, dreamless sleep.

She took a few moments to realise that she was still in her room in the Five Flagons. Light was filtering through the shuttered windows so brightly that it was clear it was broad daylight. She must not have been asleep very long.

A quick glance around seemed to indicate otherwise. Sprawled in a chair next to the bed was Harrian, head lolled forwards and clearly sleeping. He held her hand in his, and looked as if he had been there for a while, very much the worse for wear.

Jaheira herself felt considerably better after all of this rest. Her head was clear, and there was no longer the dull ache within her that Ployer's 'gift' had left. It seemed very much as if the curse had been lifted.

She shifted in her bed a little, trying to get more comfortable. The movement, slight as it was, woke Harrian, who had clearly been trying to sleep with one ear open and thus was more than slightly attuned to her actions.

He jerked upright, still with a firm grip on her hand, and looked more than slightly stunned to see her awake and grinning at him. "Hmm? What?" Corias blinked and shook his head to clear it. "You're awake," he observed astutely.

"I am. Well done for noticing," Jaheira replied dryly, glancing at the window. "It seems as if I was not asleep for very long… it is still daylight, and quite bright too.," she commented, frowning a little.

Harrian looked surprised. "You've been asleep just short of twenty-four hours," he told her, blinking again, then he grinned. "Very solid rest, even by my standards." The thief leant forwards slightly, still holding her hand. "Are you feeling better?" he asked quietly, his brow creased with concern for her.

She nodded. "I feel… fully healed. The curse has been lifted, I believe… and Ployer is not around to present a threat to anyone anymore." The last comment was something of a slightly harsh test. She knew Harrian had killed Ployer, and personally agreed that the slaver deserved to die… but her friend was not one to kill in cold blood. A part of her feared that the Bhaal-blood within him had taken over, if only for a moment.

She was a little gratified to see that he looked, if not remorseful, sheepish at her acknowledgement of his actions. "He… he was an evil man," Harrian murmured. "Perhaps I should have shown him mercy, but he deserved to die. Had he lived, he would have still presented a threat to you…"

"If you had not killed him, I would have," she repeated, tightening her grip on his hand slightly, and was rewarded by a small but genuine smile on his part. "You have been here all the time?" she asked tentatively.

Harrian nodded firmly. "I… I wasn't sure you were going to be alright. Anomen was ready to tend to you if you did not recover normally, but in case…" He smiled nervously, then glanced at the floor before he met her gaze. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I am thankful for your concern," she murmured, looking at him curiously. His eyes, usually darker than was natural, seemed even blacker than normal as he stared at her, his brow still slightly furrowed. He raised a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, and was about to speak when the door to her room was flung open.

In charged, once again, a very flustered Anomen, this time looking as if he had had the shock of his life. "You had better come down to the tavern," he panted. "Corneil is here… they want the scroll… Your friend is also…"

_I'm going to kill that cleric,_ Harrian thought first of all before the squire's words had fully sunk in. Then the implications of what Anomen had said _did _hit him, and he sprang to his feet. "Corneil's here? With Imoen?"

Delryn nodded, starting to recover somewhat. "She is here," he assured the party's leader. "But she's contained in some magical field… and won't be released until the Cowled Wizard has the scroll."

Harrian fumbled about in his inside pocket and pulled the Nether scroll out, smiling. "At bloody last," he sighed, then turned to look at Jaheira. "Will you be alright? I can get Anomen to make the exchange if you…"

The druid gave him a mildly scathing look. "I am capable of standing, you know," she assured him. "I will join you. The Cowled Wizards cannot be trusted and you may need an extra pair of hands. Just let me get ready." Harrian smiled, nodded, but did not move until Jaheira gave him another pointed glare, and he and Anomen sheepishly withdrew from the room.

* *

_If I _really _wanted to, I could probably Breach this, _Imoen told herself confidently as her eyes curiously roamed the tavern of the Five Flagons, even through the milky-white sheen of the magical barrier that had been placed around her.

Thunderburp was less than happy about the whole arrangement. The damn thief and his friends had caused far too many scenes in the inn, and he was getting quite sick of it, good-natured halfling though he was. Any more extreme incidents such as this one, and they were out on their backsides.

Corneil paced irritably as he waited for the arrival of Corias and the scroll, completely ignoring Yoshimo, who had an arrow notched on his bow and was following him with it as he moved. He didn't have time for this. He didn't _care _about the girl; he'd be all too happy to get rid of her provided he had the scroll. He had no desires to double-cross the thief, though he could see how Corias wanted to be cautious.

Haer'Dalis was studying Imoen with barely controlled interest. From everything he had heard, and even from seeing her right now, she had been described as a bright, cheerful, happy-go-lucky girl. This wasn't what interested him. What interested him was the innate darkness within her that everyone else seemed completely blind to but was as clear to the tiefling as the day's sky. As a Doomguard and a bard, such a corruption of a pure soul was fascinating, in a rather, he admitted, perverse way.

Yoshimo, however, was fit to panic. This was not how things were supposed to have gone. To be fair, he didn't _want _things to go according to the plan, but he had come to accept that they would. With Imoen here, Harrian had far less incentive to go in search of Irenicus, and if he didn't go in search of Irenicus, Yoshimo would have to either make him go or bring him to the mage. Failure to do so would mean a long and painful death.

Then there was Minsc. He held the Sword of Chaos in a solid grip, eyeing the mages that accompanied Corneil with the utmost distrust. They had placed little Imoen in this magical container, and whilst he wasn't sure how it worked, Boo assured him that he could not hack his way through. This bothered him. But he was still ready to go in with blade and boot if any of the Cowled Wizards endangered Imoen.

And, finally, just as none of them thought they could take it anymore, Anomen stepped down the stairs, followed closely by a rather ruffled-looking Jaheira. And directly behind them, scroll in one hand and lit candle in the other, came Harrian, also looking very much the worse for wear, but his eyes were sparkling with anticipation. He gave Imoen a brief, cheerful look, before starting towards Corneil. "Any false moves and this scroll will be reduced to so much ash on the floor," he warned Corneil threateningly.

The Cowled Wizard smiled toothily and falsely. "I assure you, if that happens to the scroll, it will then happen to the girl," he cautioned. "But if you give me the scroll, I shall release her. I assure you, I am not about to whisk her away again – it was so much of an effort to bring her here that I'd be inclined to just let her loose in the streets of Athkatla were this exchange to not take place."

Harrian set the candle down and drew his sword. "Very well," he said, his heart beating so loudly he was amazed that the others didn't seem to hear it. He slowly extended the hand that held the Nether scroll towards Corneil. "Take it and release her."

The Cowled Wizard snatched the scroll from his hand, and seriously considered for a moment killing them all on the spot. But no… if he had intended to do that, he would have brought more colleagues along. And it would be quite a waste of resources. At the end of the day, he cared not one jot for Corias or his comrades.

He shrugged. "Very well," Corneil said absently, then muttered a few words under his breath. There was a bright flash of a type of magic Harrian had never before witnessed, but when it had faded, all of the Cowled Wizards are gone, and Imoen stood, unrestricted, in the middle of the tavern.

The pink-haired thief gave him a mischievous smile, and there was only the slight weariness in her eyes that told him her time in Spellhold had been none-too pleasant. "Well," she declared cheerfully. "You took your time getting me out of there. What did you do, stop for a holiday along the way?"  
  



	45. Away from it all

**Chapter 45: Away From it All**

That evening, at Harrian's decree, they put everything on hold. Worries about Anomen's sister's murder, about the Shadow Thieves, about Bodhi, about the Cowled Wizards, about the Order, and about Irenicus were swept under the carpet for the time-being whilst the party enjoyed some hard-earned downtime.

Thunderburp had been assured that this was the last fiasco for a while, and the bartender had, surprisingly enough, accepted that explanation. The jovial halfling had offered drinks on the house all evening, and those of Harrian's party that actually drank alcohol were making the most of it.

It was a rare night, for it was a night where they all could, and did, step out of their troubles and make the most of the now instead of worrying about the future. All concerns were to be ignored for one night.

Well, almost all. Considering the positioning of the table some of them were seated at and the dartboard Harrian had commandeered, Anomen had to have more faith in his friends than he was comfortable with. Faith that he didn't end up with a dart in his eye.

Helm knew how they'd convinced Jaheira to join in the game, and whilst the combined efforts of Harrian and Imoen were beating her and Yoshimo, it was a close thing. Delryn had been quick to wriggle out of being paired with Haer'Dalis for a game, mostly because he knew his aim would be astronomically bad in comparison to the three thieves and a dextrous druid.

Minsc had similarly backed out due to Boo's assurance that he would break the dartboard, a suggestion Anomen agreed with utterly. Haer'Dalis had been quite confused, for it seemed that no variant on darts existed in the Outer Planes, and thus had also declined.

So it was just the cleric and the tiefling who were seated at the table, the former trying to resist the urge to duck every time Harrian threw a dart, taking much glee from the squire's discomfort. Minsc was off on a search for another round of drinks, and considering how much alcohol they'd gone through, it looked as if the teetotal Jaheira would have a big advantage in the game very soon.

Alcohol didn't seem to affect Haer'Dalis very much, and Anomen never drank very much, so the two of them were quite sober as they sat in silence, watching the darts game with a mixture of trepidation and amusement. The main focus of their attention was the same: Imoen.

There was no doubt that she had gone through some horrific moments at the hands of Irenicus, and that her time at Spellhold had hardly been therapeutic for those moments, but that did not seem to make too much of a dent in her light, happy-go-lucky spirit that seemed to raise everyone's moods and make the darkness seem… that much less terrifying.

Like Harrian, Jaheira, and – to a lesser extent – Minsc, she was recovering from the suffering at the hands of Irenicus. And whilst there was still the pain in her eyes, residual traces of what she had seen and what she had gone through, there was still a clear and bright chance for her to carry on.

This actually gave Anomen a smidgeon of hope. Although he was going to devalue his own loss, he knew that what he had suffered was little in comparison to that of Harrian and the others. The fact that they were surviving and carrying on told him that he, too, could recover from his troubles and carry on.

Haer'Dalis gave the cleric a quick sideways look, reading more in him than Delryn would have ever wished. "Squire Anomen, you seem deep in thought," he mused lightly. "It is clear you have been considering the latest addition to our ranks quite profoundly. Have you, perhaps, reached any conclusions?"

Anomen's brow furrowed. "My conclusions are my own, bard," he retorted automatically. The moment the words were out of his mouth, however, he softened a little. "But she is something of an item of… interest, is she not?"

The blade nodded, looking thoughtful. "Odd, however. You are the closest thing to a paragon of justice we have in this party, and this Imoen is both thief and mage, doubly a criminal in Athkatla."

Delryn snorted. "Haer'Dalis, I am in a group lead by a thief which has, since its formation, stolen from the Cowled Wizards and one of the local nobility before striking a highly illegal deal to free someone from a prison. I think the addition of another thief, or a mage, whichever profession of hers you decide to focus on, is a minor issue."

The tiefling smiled broadly. "Very good, my hound. Mayhaps there is a chance for you in the Prime Material Plane after all. I had thought you devoid of any chance to solidify your own path in this world without being constricted by the tenets of this rigid Order you hold in such high regard."

Anomen sighed. There Haer'Dalis was hitting the crux of another matter which bothered him so. Since joining Harrian's company, he had all but abandoned the Order. Sir Keldorn was watching Harrian, and the moment the thief stepped out of line (though how Keldorn had decided that two counts of theft was not out of line, Anomen would never know), he would be condemned. And, most likely, Delryn would go down with him.

A month ago, if confronted with this situation, the Watcher would have chosen to turn and leave Harrian's company. He did not know why he stayed, but he felt compelled to, even if it meant defying the Order.

"However, you deflected the question quite well," Haer'Dalis continued, pressing a little more than was normal for him. "Your thoughts on this Imoen?"

Anomen looked quizzically at the tiefling, wondering what underlying motive the bard might have to be so inquisitive as to his opinion, and received nothing but an open and honest expression. This worried him. The bard had an unknown agenda that did not bode well with the cleric, but he really had little choice but to humour him for the moment. "She seems a bright enough girl," he commented, shrugging a non-committal shrug. "Her presence will, no doubt, raise our leader's spirits. Which I think he needs, as our next quest will doubtless be a search for this Irenicus."

"You think so, do you?" Haer'Dalis mused. "That sounds most logical a conclusion. I have to say I agree… Harrian is unlikely to allow this Irenicus to get away without answering the questions our raven most certainly has. And she… she is fascinating…"

The bard's voice trailed off, and before Anomen could ask him to elaborate on 'fascinating', the object of his attention was headed in their direction. Minsc had arrived with drinks, and Imoen had given him her darts, insisting she take her placed in the game. Within a few seconds, Harrian was using all of his might to try and pry the darts out of the board, but that was not Imoen's concern.

The pink-haired mage practically bounced into the seat opposite bard and cleric. "Enough of darts for now," she said by way of greeting, taking a gulp of the cordial Minsc had brought her. "I know next to nothing of you two boys. Tell me about yourselves," she commanded, the smile on her face so bright and infectious that Anomen felt himself returning it, not to mention compelled to comply.

He raised an eyebrow at her, seeing just how much Imoen could have a beneficial effect on morale in the party. "How much do you already know?" he asked lightly, taking a tentative sip of his own drink.

"Only that you, Anomen Delryn, are a squire of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, a priest of Helm, and…" Imoen's voice trailed off, and her brow knitted a little. Her tone had been slightly mocking, but so light and frivolous that Anomen felt incapable of taking offence at it. Despite the fact that she had stopped talking, the unspoken words were clear: _…and your sister's recently been murdered._

Instead of saying that, she turned to Haer'Dalis. "…and you are a bard, a tiefling from the Outer Planes." Imoen laid her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "Now, Candlekeep may have been a library fortress, but there weren't many books on the Planes. What're they like?"

Anomen felt slightly miffed that Imoen had decided to divert all of her attention towards Haer'Dalis, but then conceded that the tiefling was, most veritably, the more unique of the two of them. He studied Imoen quietly as the bard started to describe the planes in terms that flew over his head most quickly.

The pink hair was an oddity. Delryn assumed it was from a dye, but why someone would wish to dye their hair _pink _was an unfathomable thought. It was probably from a spell gone wrong, or the like.

And that quick smile of hers, the one that lit up her face and all but hid the pain held in her eyes. It was infectious and soothing, and seemed to suggest that any trouble or pain was only temporary. Anomen felt himself wanting to see that smile a lot more, as much for how much it made him feel better as it hid her worries.

A voice interrupted his reverie as Harrian slid into the seat next to him. "Game's over," he declared, a slight frown on his face but with the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. At their querying looks, he shrugged. "Minsc broke the board."

The giant ranged pulled a chair up, looking a little mortified. "Harrian told me to imagine the board was the backside of evil that needed kicking. Now we cannot remove the dart," he confessed. He looked a little baffled at the bright laughter that greeted his statement, but joined in readily enough, and soon all seven of them were chuckling at even the slightest little thing.

_Yes, _Anomen thought. _This is a chance to get away from everything, and although it won't last, we should make the most of it. For tomorrow, shadows will return and frivolous matters will be less likely to make us laugh._


	46. Dawn Dialogues

**Chapter 46: Dawn Dialogues**

Imoen descended the stairs the next morning with as much bounce as usual, and was highly amused by the scene that greeted her. Minsc was still slumbering in the corner of the tavern, having consumed far too much alcohol the night before. All attempts to move him had failed fantastically.

The only other member of the party who was now awake after the previous evening's celebrations was Harrian, and from the look of him he would probably have been better off in bed. He also had consumed far too much alcohol.

But he was attempting Thunderburp's mystery hangover cure with as much enthusiasm as possible for someone with a killer hangover, and it did indeed seem to wake him up. He was a little too nervous to ask just what was in it, however, and was now of the opinion that ignorance was bliss.

He grinned as Imoen took a seat next to him and readily accepted the tea Samuel handed her instantly. "You know, Imoen, I think you're right," he mused quietly. "I should cut down on the alcohol."

She laughed, and Harrian felt the ache of his temples ease significantly at the noise. He had missed that laugh far too much. "I've been telling you that for the past two years," she told him, shaking a finger under his nose. "And yet, you never listen."

"Hey, you drank too!" he said defensively. "And yet, you never seem to get roaring drunk or have a killer hangover the day after. Magical charm?" Harrian asked lightly, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I drink _less_," Imoen reminded him, chuckling a little. Then she sobered somewhat, taking a sip of her tea. "So tell me… what lengths did you have to go to so as to get me out of Spellhold?" So far, all he had explained to her was that he'd struck a deal with the Cowled Wizards.

Harrian smiled. "Oh, you know, the usual. Defying the Shadow Thieves, battling with Vampires, stealing from the Cowled Wizards, organising a heist on the home of one of the city's most wealthy nobles…"

"Just like old times," Imoen commented brightly.

"Absolutely," he assured her, then carried on to fill her in on exactly what had transpired since her capture, airbrushing over some of the tension between himself and Jaheira, and taking much glee in explaining that, in exchange for her freedom, he had given the Cowled Wizards a gender-swapping scroll.

This she understandably found highly amusing, and Harrian was reminded once again of how much he'd missed her whilst she was gone. But that thought was banished as she grinned at him, and all that matter was that she was here _now_. "I would have thought I was worth more than such a cursed item," Imoen reproved, poking him lightly on the arm. 

He laughed. "It was only when Edwin used it that I knew what it was. I would have exchanged it had it been the key to unlocking all of the power in the universe," Harrian assured her, his expression softening a little.

She smiled lightly. "Thanks for getting me out of there," she murmured, then hugged him tightly.

"Anytime, my friend. Anytime."

There was a discreet cough from behind them, and they pulled apart to see Jaheira standing there, a slight smile on her face. "I would not give him all the credit, child. If not for us, he would probably have been left incapacitated in a bar-room brawl within twenty-four hours of your abduction."

Harrian opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the Copper Coronet. "Hey, I could handle myself," he insisted, albeit a little weakly. Then he frowned. "That reminds me, I still haven't spoken to Anomen about his knocking me unconscious in there," he continued darkly.

"Nice. You seem to have collected an interesting entourage in my absence," Imoen told him lightly. There was a most piteous groan from the corner, and Minsc stirred. She glanced over to where the giant ranger was resting, and smiled. "Maybe I should go see if Minsc is okay."

Jaheira sat down in the chair Imoen had vacated. "You seem happier today," she commented lightly, accepting her own cup of tea from Thunderburp with a nod. "Considerably so, in fact."

"Why shouldn't I be?" Harrian asked, smiling broadly. "I mean, I know that Irenicus is still out there, but right now, I don't need to worry about him. He's still a prisoner of the Cowled Wizards, and now Imoen's here and alright, there's no rush."

Jaheira nodded. "I agree, but be careful that you do not forget about him. He may not be a threat now, and we may be able to deal with him at our leisure, but if you become complacent, then when he eventually emerges as a danger, your second encounter with him may be fatal." Her voice was cautious, and the warning she offered clear.

"I have no intention of doing so," Harrian assured her quietly. "I need answers from Irenicus, and he needs to face justice of one sort or another. I'm not going to forget that, just as much as I'm not going to forget what he put me through. Any of us through," he amended, his jaw tightening a little.

The druid nodded again, sipping her tea. "It is good, however, that we do not need to rush into anything. That could be more fatal than considering him harmless. Matters should be more… secure now that Imoen is here." She smiled a little. "Things may just work out after all."

Of course, she was speaking a moment too soon, for it was then that a cloaked figure entered the tavern. Early in the morn as it was, visitors at this hour were rare, and usually consisted of delivery boys or merchants stopping for breakfast before departing to man their stalls. The new arrival was most clearly neither, for the pace with which she walked, the ease of which she treated her surroundings and the aura of power and control was directly in contrast with any of Harrian's guesses as to her origins.

The figure approached them coolly, and for some reason Corias felt inclined to place a cautious hand on one of the throwing knives in the bandolier across his studded leather, hidden as the move would be by his own cloak. A warning look from Jaheira stopped any such movement, however.

"I wish to speak to you, Jaheira," the woman said, her features invisible under the cloak that she wore. "There are matters of great importance that need to be dealt with, and quickly. Your assistance is needed."

The druid frowned, and twisted in her chair to face the newcomer. "I am sorry… do I know you? Of what is it you speak?" From the look she had given Harrian, the thief suspected that she had many ideas and clues as to who this person was, but wanted a bit more confirmation before committing herself.

There was a sigh from underneath the cowl, and Harrian imagined the visitor was rolling her eyes. "My name is not important," she insisted, then shifted a little so that the pin she wore on her cloak was visible. "We are one and the same, and I bear the pin that tells our name. I bid you to come with me."

Jaheira nodded solemnly. Harrian had missed anything of importance, for the pin seemed indistinctive to his eyes, and he silently cursed himself for missing the relevance of it. "Very well," the druid said. "Permit me a moment and then I shall do what must be done."

The visitor gave Harrian a glance, and he felt for all the world as if he was being evaluated and judged in a single moment. "Very well," she said quietly. "Make your farewells, and then depart." Then she withdrew towards the door of the bar.

Corias raised an eyebrow at Jaheira. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light but the tightness in his gut not permitting him to maintain such a charade effectively, and some tension crept into his words. 

Jaheira paused for a moment, then stood. "Do not worry; I shall not be gone long. I do not want to be apart from you for long." He looked up at her, and their eyes met for a long moment before she squeezed his shoulder quickly. "I shall explain later. I'll be back as soon as possible, I promise."

The moment the door closed behind her, Harrian felt the tension increase tenfold. This was wrong, very wrong… He could feel it in his gut, every fibre of his being complaining at her departure, but his brain couldn't deal with it.

He was cut off in the process by Imoen hopping back into the chair next to him. "Minsc seems okay now," she said by way of greeting and explanation, but her face was serious for once as she looked at him. "Are you?"

Harrian raised an eyebrow at her and forced a laugh out. "Me? Why shouldn't I be okay? Jaheira can most certainly handle herself, and she seemed to know what she was doing. I'm fine."

"Hmm." Imoen was clearly unconvinced. "I've clearly missed a lot in my absence," she commented. "You two have sparks flying more than I'd ever have guessed… I take it she's getting over Khalid, then?"

Her expression was completely unreadable, and Harrian hated it that she could see deep inside his heart and soul with such ease but he couldn't do the same for her. Not only was it irritating, it did make him feel as if he should be doing more.

But he was fortunately saved from interrogation as Yoshimo swung the door open and entered the tavern. He threw them both a broad, cheerful smile, and approached them with his customary swagger. "Greetings to you both. Are you the only two souls who are conscious in this inn?"

Harrian folded his arms across his chest and leant back to give the thief an evaluating look. He was hiding something too. Bastards, all of them. Taking advantage of his limited ability to read them. "Whatever you have to say, spit it out."

Yoshimo glanced around tentatively, then shrugged and took his own seat. "This had best be discussed when Anomen arrives, but I should warn you of what is to come." He smiled humourlessly. "I spoke to Tellis. We may have to pay Saerk Farrahd a visit."


	47. Keeping Promises

**Chapter 47: Keeping Promises**

Anomen Delryn, warrior-priest of Helm and squire of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, was pissed off. So pissed off, in fact, that his companions were starting to seriously wonder how bad an idea this particular endeavour was.

It had seemed so easy. Tellis the informant had given Yoshimo everything necessary to bring Saerk Farrahd down for his crimes… except for the murder of Anomen's sister. The information on that was sketchy – there were two unknown men who had apparently mentioned having been hired by a nobleman to kill Moira, but this was hardly enough to convict the man.

But they did have proof for a thousand and one other minor breakings of the law. None of them reached the level of murder, but put together they could leave Farrahd _very _inconvenienced for the rest of his life, and Yoshimo had predicted that it could even land him in prison.

Harrian had suggested turning the merchant in for all of those, but Anomen had been adamant that no such action would be taken if it was impossible to prove or disprove Farrahd's guilt for his sister's murder.

So the plan had been altered. Murder would carry a lighter sentence than absolutely everything else Saerk had done wrong. It was the most heinous of his crimes, but he had only done it the one time, as opposed to the score of times he had cunningly skipped the taxes, or such. Anomen couldn't care less if Farrahd was untouched for those other crimes, but he was to see justice for the murder of his sister.

The idea was that they blackmail Saerk into turning himself in for the murder. If he didn't, then they would bring the anger of many, many different parts of the government down upon his head, and ensure that he didn't get away with a quick bribe. Hopefully, Farrahd would much rather face the _comparatively _light sentence murder would offer.

Corias knew the plan was odd. He knew it would be best just to give the scrolls to the government and let Saerk pay for what they could prove he had done, as he deserved. But there was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind that told him to check up on this; that there was a piece of the puzzle missing. He indulged the gut feeling for once.

It had been hard to gain an audience with the Calimshite merchant, and Harrian had had to use that dagger of his he was growing a little _too _fond of so as to convince the guards and servants that meeting Farrahd was _absolutely _necessary. But they were there.

Anomen threw the door to Saerk's office much harder than was necessary for what was _supposed _to appear as a calm, quiet discussion of business, and burst into the room, shaking with barely controlled anger. Harrian, Imoen, Yoshimo, Haer'Dalis and Minsc followed swiftly, most of them afraid that he would let his fury get the better of him and do something stupid

The room was large, far larger than any simple office, and from the number of doors along the wall, was clearly set right in the heart of the building. Why a merchant would choose such a room to run his business in, a room that must be subject to much intrusion throughout the day, was unfathomable.

"Saerk!" Anomen called out, pointing his mace at the merchant, who was most surprised at being disturbed this late in the morning. "Do not think that you can rest easy! It is time to –"

He was interrupted by Imoen and Yoshimo practically throwing themselves at him to stop him from continuing, and Harrian smoothly placed himself in between the cleric and the merchant, desperate to try and keep things _visibly _civil.

"Ah, that is to say that there is much we wish to discuss with you, Mr Farrahd," the thief told the Calimshite as courteously as he could muster. Great as his distaste for the man was, it wouldn't do to let Anomen go raging at him right now.

Saerk raised an eyebrow. He was an ageing man, maybe in his late fifties, with streaks of silver creeping in to his otherwise jet black hair at the temples. His face, as darkly coloured as was to be expected from a Calimshite, was wrinkled and worn from the ravages of age, but he still seemed to hold a strong vitality within him that told Harrian this was no man to mess with. "Ah. You would be the Delryn's manservant, yes?" he asked lightly, seemingly ignoring Anomen's outburst.

Harrian frowned until he remembered the role he had taken at Duchinov's ball. How Farrahd thought that he was a servant now that he wore his studded leather armour and long, hooded cloak, the sword at his belt still quite visible, he wasn't sure. He was in something of a mood to set the nob right. "Actually, I am a friend of Anomen's," he replied smoothly, brushing his dark hair back. "And there is some business we would like to talk to you about."

Farrahd folded his arms across his chest and leant back in the chair behind his desk, mild and false interest written all across his face. "I'm all ears," he said in an ever-so-slightly mocking voice and smiling a false smile.

Corias glanced at Yoshimo, who had finished subduing Anomen, and stepped forwards. He said nothing to the Calimshite, merely pulled a long roll of scrolls from somewhere about his person and deposited them carefully on the desk. The bounty hunter gave Farrahd a look which Harrian interpreted as 'read 'em and weep' before withdrawing slowly.

Saerk picked through the scrolls delicately, his face impassive. Harrian could see that he had no desire to let a smidgeon of emotion creep through the mask that had now slipped over his face, and it pleased the thief to see the merchant's expression falter as he read what they had given him.

There was a long silence, broken only by the ticking of a great clock that stood by the wall nearest the desk. For some reason, the seconds seemed longer than usual as they waited for Farrahd's reaction.

At last, the Calimshite leant back in his chair again and coolly set the papers down on his desk. "So what is it you want?" he asked calmly. "Money? I can give you money if you let me burn these right here. Goods? I can get my files and see if we have what you want within moments."

Anomen burst forwards, pushing Harrian out of the way, his face a mask of fury. "Viper!" he spat at Farrahd, shaking with anger. He shoved Corias back roughly as the swashbuckler tried to restrain him. "You murdered my sister, and you shall either face justice for _that _or face justice for these other, petty crimes!"

Farrahd was clearly taken aback at the vehemence with which the young cleric spoke. "Your sister?" He chuckled dryly, then threw his head back and laughed. Harrian could see Anomen's anger increase tenfold at the callous display. "Nay, boy, I did not kill your sister. What makes you think that?"

Delryn was slowly turning a rather odd shade of purple. "The fact that you have hounded my father his entire life and turned everything he has done into a mockery! Killing Moira completes your victory against him!"

Saerk snorted, becoming calm once more, even in the face of Anomen's ire. "I would not resort to murder just to make Cor feel even more cowed than he already does. Your father is an insignificant gnat – he is not even worth my acknowledgement. He may have painted me as the unscrupulous and evil businessman, boy, but I am not a murderer. It takes someone worth more than Cor to make me resort to such depths."

Harrian frowned. The worrying thing was, Farrahd's words made sense. He _had _no reason to have Moira killed, and Corias could easily see how Cor could be seen as absolutely insignificant in his eyes. In anyone's eyes.

"He speaks the truth, my raven," Haer'Dalis spoke quietly, and everyone turned to stare at him. Somehow, at that moment, he seemed even more alien than ever, his bright blue hair and odd features distinctive and clear, and the obvious fact that he was a tiefling forestalled any comments.

But, becoming convinced as his party fellows were, Anomen was still not subdued. "Liar!" he screamed at Saerk, grabbing him by his shirt-front and yanking him to his feet, the mace shuddering in his hands as he fought with the desire to use it. "You murdered her; I _know _you did, so _admit it_!"

"Anomen, you should –" Harrian's words stopped as one of the far doors opened, and a girl stepped out into the room. She wore only a simple white dress, and her dark, wispy hair that seemed to almost engulf her gave her an ethereal, almost angelic sort of look.

"Father? W-what's going on?" the girl, probably in her late teens, stammered, stepping forward. "I heard shouting…" She finally seemed to acknowledge that Anomen seemed ready to beat her father's head in. "W-why…"

Delryn released Farrahd quickly, and started to skulk around the room cautiously. His stance and pace were completely different to that of the Anomen the rest of them knew, and the dark look in his eyes made Harrian fear they had lost him completely. He knew what it was like to deal with darkness. It looked as if Delryn had had a similar fight to the one Corias faced every day, but had lost.

"Steps will have to be taken to get you to admit your sin, Farrahd," he said, in a low, threatening voice that was so unlike Anomen it was unnerving. "You have taken a wonder from a family; a veritable angel amongst mortals. You have relieved a being of light and good from this world, and yet you fail to confess your sins."

He slowly meandered over towards the girl. She shrank back and would have run had the cleric suddenly bounded forwards and grabbed her wrist in his left hand, his eyes smouldering with hate and anger. "And if I were to do the same thing?" he snapped venomously, fixing his gaze on Farrahd's. "Would you then see what you have done? Would you then acknowledge your sins?"

All of the strength seemed to seep out of Saerk. "Delryn! No! Do not take my daughter!" He seemed frantic, panicking. "I did _not _have your sister killed, but if turning myself in for the crime is what it will take to keep my family safe, then I…"

"_Liar_! Admit it!" Anomen yelled. There was silence for a long moment, silence as everyone remained immobile, too stunned to move or acknowledge what Delryn had become in this moment of fury. Then he raised his mace, ready to bring it down upon the girl.

"Father! Help me!" Farrahd's daughter shrieked, panic and fear of death creeping into every syllable of her words as she struggled to escape from Anomen's iron grip. But it seemed as if nobody had the power to save her.

Harrian felt himself bounding forwards to try and restrain Anomen, Minsc and Haer'Dalis close behind him. Saerk was screaming something, something absolutely indeterminate as they moved, and Corias was dully aware of Imoen frantically running through a hold spell, incanting faster than he had ever thought possible.

Anomen's mace dropped.

But it did not reach its target.

An arrow flew through the air so fast as that it was almost impossible to see, and embedded itself in Anomen's hand, defying any gauntlet on its errand to save an innocent life. His weapon fell limply from his injured hand and to the floor harmlessly as the cleric let out one sharp, pained yelp, whipping around with the motion of the arrow, and instinctively kneeling down and curling up within himself to deal with this unexpected assault.

There was a long silence, broken only by the panting of Anomen as he struggled to get his breath back, and the reverberating _twang _of Yoshimo's bow in the aftermath of his swift efforts.

Everyone stared at the bounty hunter dumbly as the Kara-Turan padded forwards towards the cleric. Anomen was still crouched, cradling his hand and seeming without the energy to move and stand. The anger that had controlled him had clearly ebbed out, leaving behind something of a shell.

Yoshimo leant forwards and grabbed Delryn's wrist, yanking the arrow from out of his hand and ignoring the second yelp the squire emitted. Then he pulled his gauntlet off and wrapped the injured hand in the strip of cloth he usually kept to clean his katana. He did not help Anomen get up.

When he finally spoke, there was no pity or acceptance in his voice. "You made me a promise that you would not murder those responsible for your sister's death. Whilst you did not promise that you would not murder innocents, I never thought that an oath you would need swearing."

Anomen finally raised his head to look at Yoshimo, and the anguish on his face was heart-wrenching. A single tear ran down his face as he looked solemnly at Farrahd's daughter, who had retreated to the safety of her father and was shaking all over.

The cleric lowered his head again, and let out an anguished moan, a noise full of remorse and pain that came straight from his very soul. "Gods," he murmured weakly. "What have I done? What have I become?"

Strong arms grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. "Anomen simply lost his mind for a moment. It happens to Minsc often, and when it does, he becomes a dangerous force. Boo helps him channel this fury towards his enemies in righteous butt-kicking, but if you have no Boo, how can you be expected to control this anger?" The giant ranger paused and considered his words. "And you just went a little crazy. You did not hurt anybody."

Harrian stepped up and handed Anomen back his mace, then slapped him on the shoulder. "He's right. We all have our demons inside of us, and we have to be eternally vigilant against them. You may have lost control once, but nobody was hurt, and you are now aware of your own particular piece of darkness." Corias frowned, realising his words were a little on the morbid side, but said nothing more.

Finally, it was Imoen who seemed to break Anomen through this dire near-catatonic state that seemed to be creeping upon him. "Are you alright?" she asked lightly, placing a hand on the shoulder Harrian had slapped.

Somehow, being asked such a simple question, such a light and easy query where everyone else had been offering advice and lectures, seemed to break through Anomen's mood, and the slightest of slight smiles tugged at his face. "I… we'll see," he murmured, frowning.

He straightened up, and turned to face Saerk, then bowed his head a little. "I offer you my most sincere and humble apologies. I…" The cleric's voice trailed off, and he gave them a long look. "I shall take my leave of you now. You may… dispose of those documents however you choose," he added, waving a hand at the scrolls that lay on the desk.

The group wordlessly started to troop towards the door, sensing a need for yet more emotional patching. It seemed as if it was turning into a common occurrence for them all, which made the moment seem even more bitter than usual.


	48. Around the Bend

**Chapter 48: Around the ****Bend******

By late afternoon of that day, insanity seemed to have worn off for everyone. Anomen had regressed to the state of sitting alone in his room, and had been left to his own devices by the rest of the party, too tentative to face his wrath as they were. Yoshimo had done his disappearing trick again, this time to see if he could get any more solid information out of Tellis.

Harrian had planned to see if he and Imoen could fare better against Haer'Dalis and Minsc than they had against Yoshimo and Jaheira at darts, but he was obviously far too preoccupied with the aforementioned missing druid to focus enough on the game. Eventually he surrendered and satisfied himself by lurking in a corner of the room, a pint of Thunderburp's ale to keep him company as he waited for her.

Haer'Dalis had been offered the chance to settle an 'artistic dispute' amongst the new owners and managers of the Five Flagons playhouse, and had thus retired downstairs to give them a hand. Minsc went off on one of his mysterious shopping trips to tend to Boo's apparently quite particular needs.

This left Imoen to either conduct a one-sided conversation with an overly-concerned Harrian, or tend to other matters. After being detained by the Cowled Wizards, she was understandably tentative to resume some of her arcane studies, but Corias's assurances of the magical license they had acquired her set most of her worries at rest, but she felt unhappy about using magic for non-essential purposes at that moment.

The girl sighed as she gave Harrian a brief, forlorn look and left the table, starting towards the stairs leading up to the rooms. She had something of a desire to make herself useful, to show that she had not been rescued for naught, and it seemed as if there was only thing right then that could make her useful.

* *

Anomen was most surprised when he opened the door to see Imoen standing there. He didn't know who he had expected to have drawn the short straw for the job of cheering him up, but for some reason he anticipated that the mage would have been exempt from that duty, considering what she had already been through.

"My lady," he stammered, taken aback and suddenly realising how much of a mess he looked. He was still in the soft light clothing he wore underneath his armour – which was lying in the corner of his room, in far more of a state than he had ever let it become – and knew he was hardly presentable to a lady.

Imoen raised an eyebrow at him, and shook her head. "None of that 'my lady' stuff," she chided him, shaking a finger at the cleric. "I'm just plain old Imoen. You don't need to go all courteous on me." But at the same time, a part of her brain was intrigued. _Ooh, he called you 'lady'. That's a new one. Usually, at best, it's 'hey you'…_

Beyond a desire to try and find her place in this group Harrian had put together, she wasn't too sure why she was here. Imoen found Anomen quite arrogant and overbearing, from the few conversations they'd had over the past day or so. He reminded her slightly of Ajantis, and she couldn't stand _him _either.

Still, there was something about him. She didn't know if it was just his grief, but there was, lying underneath the surface, a quite sensitive guy. Imoen suspected that his arrogance was either a front to deceive people, or a barrier to protect herself; both methods she had seen used quite effectively.

But the slightly silly smile he returned her grins with, and the way he shifted about when he was embarrassed… When he was letting his guard down, he didn't remind her of Ajantis in the least, which she counted a good thing. He did seem like a decent guy, and nobody deserved to have to mope all day long.

"Of course, my la… Imoen," he stammered, stepping back into his room with a small shake of the head. Then he realised that his room was something of a mess as well. "My apologies for the state here; I confess I was not expecting anyone to come and see me…"

Imoen frowned a little, and moved into the room to perch on the edge of the table there as Anomen flopped onto the bed. "Are the guys in the habit of leaving you to your own devices when you're like this?"

Delryn shrugged absently, examining his fingernails intently. "I don't see why not," he commented. "I don't see that there's much they could do by coming here. Seems something of a waste of time." He stopped, realising what he was saying. "Do not think I don't appreciate the company," he told her, a little too hurriedly. "It is just that, well… I am unsure that you can help."

"I can listen," Imoen offered brightly, smiling at him. "Listening can be the best help possible." She paused a moment as he hesitated. "That is, of course, if you want to talk. If you want to be alone, I can go…" She tentatively half-rose, uncertain at last if he even wanted her help.

"No, I… stay," Anomen stammered, half-rising himself. "That is, if you want to… I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to me whine…" _My, your eloquence has improved somewhat, hasn't it? _He thought grimly. _You are almost impressive in your lack of articulacy…_

Her smile broadened, and she felt herself warming to this young cleric a little more. "Anomen, if I had anything better to do, I'd have gone and done it. I'm here, ready for you to throw all your worries at me," she told him, raising an eyebrow again.

He sank back down again, and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I… it has been a long time before anyone has offered to just listen," he confessed, then shook his head. There was a long silence before he finally continued. "I was ready to kill that girl. And for what? Saerk is innocent… I was willing to kill his daughter to make him confess to something he didn't even do."

Imoen's expression softened, and she did her utmost to make sure pity didn't creep into her face. "But you didn't," she reminded him. "You didn't hurt either of them, and now you at least know that Saerk is innocent…" Her voice trailed off as she considered how weak her argument was.

Anomen laughed humourlessly. "I did not kill her because Yoshimo stopped me. You see how that is? A squire of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart is stopped from committing murder by a mere thief." His words were mocking of himself, however, rather than derisive of the bounty hunter. But he then realised what he had said, and who to. "I… am sorry," he mumbled at last. "I did not mean to offend, I simply…" His voice trailed off, and he shook his head.

Imoen brushed his apologies aside. "Don't be sorry. The irony of this situation is not missed on me, I can tell you." Her chuckle was weak, but as an attempt to brighten Anomen's mood a little, it didn't fail completely.

He smiled tightly. "In many ways, it is the rage that consumed me that worries me. Moira's death…" He stopped as his throat constricted it, then coughed and continued. "…her death has released a darkness within me, and I am unsure how to deal with it. I want to bring her murderer to justice, but at the same time I am afraid that my fury will bring me to kill those responsible…"

The pink-haired mage shrugged. "Perhaps, but… now you know it's there. We all have our demons, Anomen. Now you know yours, know that they're there, you can be more ready to tackle them if they pop up, right?"

"That's what Harrian said," Delryn sighed. "And he's right. Forewarned is forearmed. I just feel as if, when there is nobody to watch my steps, I shall falter from this path that has been set for me. Both Helm and the Order are harsh taskmasters, and being possessive of a raging anger is hardly going to help."

Imoen considered this, then moved over to sit next to him on the bed. "How'd you become a Helmite and then go off to join the Order, anyways?" she asked lightly. "It's not a path I'd guess you knight-wannabes would take."

Anomen shrugged. "My father refused to be my patron, so the only way I saw possible of joining the Order was to enter via the clergy… it was a long route, and whilst a simple knight does not have quite of the status of a paladin, there is still something there." He looked down, and smiled a little sheepishly. "It has been a dream of mine to ride under the Order's banner since I was a boy…"

Imoen grinned at his fervent words. "You know, I figured you'd be as uptight as the rest of them, but you're an okay guy." He turned his smile towards her, and her blue eyes danced. "You should smile a bit more, though."

He beamed at her, half sincere, half joking. "Whatever you desire, my lady," he told her lightly, standing up and stretching a little. "I… I thank you for taking time to talk to me. Before I joined this party, I was hard-pressed to find a single person who would help me when I needed assistance, let alone six." He paused, and frowned. "Well, perhaps five. Or four. I am unsure if Haer'Dalis or Jaheira would help me…"

Imoen shook her head, and patted him on the shoulder lightly. "Nah, they're okay. Jaheira can be a bit stony, but she's got a good heart. And Haer'Dalis…" She glanced around, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell him I said this, but he's only like he is because he finds you easy to bait."

Anomen looked angry for a second, and she thought she had made a bad move, but his expression cleared quickly. "Damned tiefling," he mumbled wryly. "Mayhaps I should try giving him a taste of his own medicine?"

Imoen grinned again, then glanced around the room. "You know what, I'm peckish," she declared abruptly. "If you'd care to join me, then I'm sure we could go and discuss much over a dinner. I don't think anyone else down there is capable of sustaining a coherent conversation with anyone whilst eating…"

Delryn smiled again, reminded of how her own smile could make him feel better. He had commented on this to Harrian, and the thief had assured him it was a universal affect Imoen had on everyone. "I'd be happy to," he said, glad of the offer. He glanced down at his clothing. "If, ah, you'd give me a chance to get properly dressed. I believe the Laughing Rogue just off the Dock's District does food at our sorts of prices that don't consist entirely of rotting meat…"


	49. Those who Harp

**Chapter 49: Those who Harp…**

There had only been two Harpers that Harrian had ever liked, and those were Jaheira and Khalid. Granted, he had not many, but one of those he had met was Elminster, and if the sage's attitude was anything to go by, then the Harpers were not a group of people that he wanted to become overly acquainted with.

Still, even with his limited knowledge, he knew that a hold as garish as the one Jaheira had brought them all to was extravagance in its rawest form, therefore completely unorthodox for a group as secretive as the Harpers.

His brow furrowed, and he glanced over at her. Unhappy as he still was to be in the Docks District, there were more things to worry about right then. "Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked lightly. "I'd have thought you Harpers would have been living in an underground bunker with so many wards protecting it nobody could even see it unless they knew the secret password."

Jaheira shrugged, her face becoming impassive at his use of 'you Harpers'. "It is unorthodox, but it is still a secret location. Besides, it was not my decision – the Herald makes all such choices."

Yoshimo smiled secretively, nodding sagely. "Besides, when something is as obvious as this building, it can be overlooked. Reverse psychology, no?" he asked lightly, and ignored the evil look Jaheira threw him as they stepped inside the Harper Hold.

They found themselves in a large hall which had to take up two levels of the building. Odd scriptures and symbols were engraved along the walls, and similar markings could be seen on the smooth, polished marble floor. Light music – understandably sounding as if it had been made by a harp – trickled through from an unknown source, and the place would have been delightful were it not for the company.

Galvarey, who was apparently the leader of the area, was a tall, well-built man in a massive suit of armour wielding a sword longer than he was tall. With him were four other Harpers, all fully armed and looking as if they meant business.

"This doesn't look good," Harrian muttered, and exchanged a slightly worried look with Imoen. But he said nothing out loud, for he trust Jaheira enough that she would not land him in any great trouble. Knowingly.

Galvarey pasted a smile onto his face as he saw them, but from the way his grip tightened on his sword and the slight furrowing of his brow, the falseness as easy for all. "Jaheira, my dear, it is good to see you," he declared, evidently trying to remain light and cheerful, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jaheira raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing here, Galvarey?" she asked scathingly, clearly choosing to ignore his sarcasm. "I have come at the Herald's bidding. I see not why you have come to greet us; this is a matter of far too much importance to be wasted on you."

Galvarey's cheerful outlook disintegrated at her words, and he lowered his sword to rest the tip on the ground. "I know full well what is going on, Jaheira," he spat, frowning even more. "I was the one who summoned you here."

From the frozen expression on Jaheira's face, it seemed quite clear that things were not going well. Harrian felt his hand creeping down towards the Sword of Balduran – a prize from a shopping trip – at his belt.

"You are no Herald," the druid said levelly, her emotionless mask slipping on once more. "What is going on?"

Galvarey shrugged. "This area currently has no Herald. One is most certainly needed, and I am doing my utmost to establish one. For that, I need your help, and all I ask is that you do what is right."

Jaheira shook her head. "You are an ambitious fool! This… _this _is not something you are sanctioned to do. All of this goes against our rules – this gaudy base… what we are here for. A Herald must –"

"-have the will to establish the position." Galvarey took a step forwards. "I believe I have that. The High Heralds will judge if this is deserved. But really, Jaheira, what we are discussion is hardly relevant today."

Jaheira snorted with disgust. "Very well, get on with your little games so we can get back to business. I am sure we hardly have time for your questions, so hurry up. Harrian is a busy person."

The false smile returned to Galvarey's face, and he looked at Harrian. "Ah, Mr Corias. I believe you know why you are here, correct?" he asked lightly, nauseating in his false cheerfulness.

"I am here because Harpers meddle in the affairs of others, an activity they take a sadistic pleasure in," Harrian said bluntly with his own frown, folding his arms across his chest defiantly.

Jaheira gave him a sharp look. "Harrian, please!" He glanced at her, and from the glint in his eyes she could then see that he was trying to get a rise out of Galvarey; testing the waters so to speak.

Galvarey chuckled. "Ah, you are being playful. He said as such just to get a reaction out of you, Jaheira. I imagine he cares for you somewhat." His expression became a little more taunting. "I wonder what Khalid would say to that…"

Harrian resisted the urge to go for his sword there and then, but Jaheira beat him to the sharp retort. "Galvarey, siblings we may be in Harper blood, but if you do not cease your tongue I shall remove it!"

Galvarey visibly withdrew. "Very well, very well, I meant no disrespect." He fixed his eyes on Harrian. "No, Mr Corias, you are here because of who and what you are. I imagine you get a lot of interest, considering your heritage." Harrian nodded sternly, and the Harper continued. "Now, I shall be intruding a little in your mind, if you don't oppose it too much. What are your earliest memories? Are they happy ones?"

_What right does he have to ask this? _Harrian wondered as he glared defiantly at the larger man. "Well," he started slowly, "I remember entering through that door a few moments ago. Before that… bit of a blur, I'm afraid."

Galvarey shook his head sadly, but his tone was so forced it was almost amusing. "You are very combative. Not good. Not good at all. This only supports my position, as I knew it would. Next question then…"

Jaheira glared at the thief. "Harrian, do not make this more difficult for yourself." _The Gods know you may need a lot of help to get through this, _a stray thought betrayed her, and she frowned. _This is to be a fair judge, and you know it._

Galvarey raised a hand. "No coaching, my dear, he will answer as he must. On to the next question then: As a child of Bhaal, have you… violent thoughts?"

Harrian snorted, heeding Jaheira's words a little. Co-operating would get him through this madness quicker. "No more than the next person," he admitted. "I use violence where I must. It is unavoidable in places."

Galvarey seemed considerate of this, and when he next spoke his voice was as if he was musing to himself whilst he made notes. "Hmm… must use violence. To be expected from one with such a despicable heritage."

Jaheira's expression darkened with frustration. "Why do you ask the question if you are going to infuse the answer with your own meaning?" she demanded, stamping her foot. "Harrian would never…"

The would-be Herald rounded on her swiftly, his face deathly serious. "Never what? You are clouded by personal feelings. He may not think like us at all. Can you understand an illithid? Or a beholder? He is akin to these!" Galvarey snapped.

"Only in your mind!" Jaheira retorted angrily. "This is nothing more than a farce, a tool for you to –"

Galvarey's expression became cold. "The questions will continue nonetheless. I do hope there will be no further outbursts," he said coolly, glaring her into silence. "Now then, Harrian, what is your favourite colour?" he asked.

Jaheira's face darkened. "What has _that _got to do with anything?!" she thundered, practically hopping with frustration.

"Jaheira! Hold your tongue! I shall have to start questioning your loyalty to our cause if you do not start acting more supportive of this matter!" Galvarey retorted. "Now, Harrian, I ask again: What is your favourite colour?"

Harrian's expression also darkened. He knew this game, he saw how his words would be twisted. He considered this long and hard, running through possibilities before he came to his conclusion. "Pink," he sneered.

Galvarey came to a halt at this, and Imoen raised a hand to her mouth to stop a giggle from escaping. The Harper gave him a sub-zero look, before drawing himself up haughtily. "Your combative nature is not good, Corias, and merely cements my suspicions. This interview was merely to clarify the matter."

Jaheira's expression flickered before the mask came back down. "You were to see Harrian as he truly was," she said levelly, her eyes widening. "Not as you expected him to be! I brought him here so you could…"

"You were to bring him here so that he would be _here_, nothing more, nothing less!" Galvarey snapped. "And if you were oblivious to what was going to happen, then you are a fool, Jaheira."

Harrian raised a hand tentatively. "Hey, I am still here. What's going on?" he asked lightly.

Jaheira withdrew sorrowfully. "I am sorry, Harrian, this was not my intent. I thought that they would…" Her voice trailed off, and she stared meaningfully at the five assembled Harpers. "Never mind what I thought. I was wrong."

Galvarey looked sceptical. "You thought you would bring him here and I would determine he presented no danger? My dear, your emotions have clouded your duty."

The half-elf looked exceedingly indignant at this. "My… what? _You _are questioning _me_? You subject him to this… this _witch hunt_ and you think I am the one that is to be questioned?" she raved.

Galvarey folded his arms over his chest. "Well, your mood confirms it. My dear, as a Harper… as a _druid_, how can you allow him to walk around freely? Think of the effects on balance!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.

"And what if they will restore the balance? What if his intent is good?" Jaheira countered, but there was a little desperation in her voice.

"It is simply not worth the risk." Galvarey shook his head again, his expression cold and as solemn as could possibly be.  "No, there is no choice in the matter. Corias, you are to be… confined."

"It is as good as death and you know it, Galvarey!" Jaheira snapped.

Galvarey shook his head once more. "Nothing so barbaric. Imprisonment to contain the chaos he might sow, either intentionally or unwittingly. It is a humane solution," the Harper assured her.

"And where am I to be locked away? I hope someplace with a view?" Harrian sneered, his hand still itching to go to his sword.

The would-be Herald shrugged. "No, Corias, I mean the spell 'Imprisonment'. You will find yourself in a small container a few leagues under the earth. Quite peaceful," he assured him lightly.

Harrian's eyes widened with anger. "You've no right to do this. I will not allow it," he snapped coldly.

Galvarey grinned a feral grin and shook his head. "You have no voice here and little choice in the matter. Certainly you can fight, but there are six Harpers to contend with. The odds are quite clearly…"

"Nay, Galvarey, there is but you and your four lackeys. I will have no part in this!" Jaheira snapped, bringing her scimitar up into an offensive stance. She looked hesitantly at the Bhaalspawn beside her. "Harrian, I… I will stand by your side if you will have me. You are… you are better than this, I know. I…"

Harrian squeezed her shoulder gently and gave her a small smile. "I'm glad," he whispered, nodding quickly before pulling the Sword of Balduran out.

            "You have made a mistake, Jaheira," Galvarey ranted furiously, bringing his two-handed sword up to bear. "With his imprisonment I could get sponsored as Herald!  But now you fight the Harpers with this monster!"

            Then the five Harpers charged.


	50. Are Never Truly Alone

_Author's note: This chapter is a little shorter to counter for the lengthy previous one (she says). Thing is, I'm going away for a while, and won't be back until August 21st, so this should be my last update for a while, unless I get something out tomorrow. Which is unlikely. The good news is that I'll be plotting throughout my absence, and a bit of a break from writing often gives me inspiration. So enjoy this last chapter of Tide of Destiny for a while, people…_

**Chapter 50: …Are Never Truly Alone**

            With a loud yell, Minsc threw himself forward, the Sword of Chaos flashing dangerously in the candlelight, and sparks flew from it as it clashed with Galvarey's sword, which was clearly also of a magical nature.

            It was seven against five, but the Harpers were no fools. As Harrian locked blades with a second fighter, pulling his dagger out of his boot so as to have a second weapon to force his opponent to contend with, he was vaguely aware of magic missiles flying over his head, and over towards someone far by his left.

            Yoshimo, Imoen, and Haer'Dalis were hanging back, raining down a mixture of magic and arrows upon the enemies, the dangerous tiefling quick with Chaos and Entropy to deal with any Harpers foolish enough to challenge the back lines.

            Anomen was engaging the Harper cleric, quite effective at using the other priest's flail against him, his mace swinging wildly and dangerously, ready to break steel or body with every blow.

            Jaheira, meanwhile, was contending with a little halfling thief who took delight in his small size and the erratic shadows of the room to disappear and then emerge dangerously when she was least expecting it. But he worked in a pattern, and fought with a style that was common for a Harper, so the advantage he would usually have was gone in the face of the experience druid.

            Again, the Harpers were competent but heavily outnumbered, and the fight was fast, if furious. Harrian got his dagger stuck in his opponent's side, then ran the other man through with his longsword quickly; Minsc dispatched Galvarey with a quick swing that almost split the man in half; Anomen brought his mace down on the other priest's head with such a force that neither helmet nor magical protection could save him; Jaheira caught the small thief in combat long enough for Yoshimo to get him with a poisoned arrow; and the combined forces of Imoen and Haer'Dalis brought the Harper mage's defences down, dispatching him easily thereon.

            The fight had been short and furious, but it was over, and they were all in mostly good condition. Harrian wiped his brow wearily, and fished around for the scrap of cloth he used to clean his sword and dagger. "Well," he mused, frowning. "That was…" His voice trailed off. There was nothing to say.

            Yoshimo fished the bodies of valuables whilst Jaheira and Anomen tended to some of Minsc's wounds. They did not give the Harper Hold a backwards glance as they headed out the door and into the bright sunlight of the Docks District.

            Wordlessly, they all started for the Five Flagons, and were almost halfway there before Imoen tentatively broke the silence. "What now?" she asked lightly, leaning on her quarterstaff a little too heavily with fatigue.

            Harrian frowned, and gave Jaheira a quiet look. The druid's eyes were downcast, and she didn't meet his gaze as they walked. "I think we need to get out of this city," he mused, his brow still furrowed, then he glanced over at Yoshimo. "See… see if there are any jobs people want doing that can get us out of Athkatla. Preferably nothing too hefty, and it doesn't have to pay very much."

            The bounty nodded silently, and they spoke no more on the way home.

* *

            Harrian poked his head tentatively around the door to Jaheira's room. "Irritating," he commented by way of greeting. "Imoen seems to have just coaxed Anomen out of his depression and encouraged him to join the world of the living, and you slip in to take his place worrying." He slipped fully inside her room. "How are you feeling?"

            The druid was seated at a chair by the open window. It was late evening by now, and a cool dusk breeze made the slightly stuffy room more bearable. She looked at him inquisitively. "I have just taken part in a… slaughter of my own kind. I shall let you divine my emotions on the matter yourself."

            Harrian grimaced, stepping forwards and perching on the table in her room. "I… I don't know what to say," he confessed quietly, looking at her cautiously. "Do… do you regret your actions?"

            "No!" she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and giving him an incredulous look. "What they, what Galvarey was doing was little more than an injustice in a search for power. I couldn't…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked away. "I couldn't let them do that to you. It is… _wrong_…"

            His expression softened, and he walked up to her. "It was wrong. Make sure you don't forget that. Your decision was the right one. I am sorry that your association with me places you in conflict with your own kind, but…"

            Jaheira shook her head. "No, you are right. I could not have lived with myself if I had let them do what they meant to. You are no monster – you may be a Bhaalspawn, but your blood holds no sway over your actions."

            He smiled nervously. "I do my best to make sure that's true," he agreed, nodding.

            There was a long silence, and Harrian considered for a moment leaving Jaheira to her own thoughts here, until she spoke again. "What do you think of Amn so far? It is certainly not without its charms – or its hardships – lately."

            Harrian shrugged. "It seems pleasant enough. A little suffocating right now – there doesn't seem to be a particularly healthy balance between the two, as it is. That's why I'm eager to get out of Athkatla." _And because you look as if another day of city life will kill you._

            Jaheira nodded slowly. "I see your point. It has always been so, but there are many things of merit here." She frowned, then tilted her head a little. "Perhaps not in the cities, but the forests are a great treasure." 

            Corias grinned at her. "Much as I'm a city man, even I can only take urbanisation in moderation. I would agree with you, though a more relaxed tour of the wilderness through would help my outlook right now."

            Jaheira gave him one of her rare, broad smiles, and it was only later that he realised she had flashed him one of her 'Khalid-smiles' – the smile he had been so enraged at her giving Duchinov. He later realised the hypocrisy of his anger as he felt his own, slightly stupid smile rise to his face. "Then I will show you when we have the time," the druid murmured. "I will take you through the deepest lands, and you will see the beauty that I know is there."

            There was a long silence as the two of them stared at each other, then Jaheira glanced away. "That is, if you have not tired of my company yet," she muttered hurriedly, staring at the table and blushing a little.

            Harrian grinned tentatively. "Tire? I grow quite fond of your company. I would miss it were it gone," he assured her lightly.

            The druid stared at him for a moment, uncharacteristically dumbstruck. "W… well. I would… I would miss your company too, Harrian," she stammered, the blush increasing, even more uncharacteristically.

            There was yet another silence, as they both rapidly considered what to say next. "Enough of this idle musing," Jaheira said hurriedly, then glanced around. "Are they serving dinner? Food may… help."

            Harrian shrugged. "Thunderburp's serving The Special today," he warned her. "Not even Minsc would eat it. I don't think you can class that as 'food'." His expression was a little mournful at this.

            Jaheira rolled her eyes. "Then there are other places to eat. Even Delosar's would be an improvement." She grabbed him by the arm, and propelled him towards the door. "Come. It would be nice to have dinner without the presence and incessant prattling of the others…"


	51. Hasty Departure

_I'm back! Early. And ready to do some serious writing. This is just a gentle, rather fluffy chapter to ease me back into matters, but… Ooh, I've _missed _this bloody fanfiction! Back to work we go!_

**Chapter 51: Hasty Departure**

            Harrian moved quietly through the musty shelves of the Adventurer's Mart, taking in the sights, sounds, smells, and wares. He'd already purchased himself a most delectable sword on their last trip there, and was hoping to find another as fine. He worked better with two blades, and had been called by Haer'Dalis 'a veritable whirling frenzy of pointed death', which he thought would make a nice reference.

            Over to his left, two aisles down and by the counter, Anomen was irritably haggling over the price of the tents they needed to purchase. Four two-man tents would do them on their trip to… wherever it was. Yoshimo had not yet returned with news of a job for them, and Harrian knew it was a little assuming to go shopping for a journey when they didn't even know if there would be such a voyage, but he still knew that his party needed to escape from the suffocating city. Jaheira in particular, and right then… what she needed was what happened.

            The thief was more than slightly worried about her and the situation she had inadvertently landed them all in. The Harpers were not to be taken lightly, and he knew that retribution would come soon. When it came, they would have to be ready. Harrian did not fear the battle, for he knew that he and his friends were more than capable – he feared the consequences for Jaheira. She had already taken up steel against her allies and friends for his sake, and he hoped very much that she would not have to go through that again. Not for him. She had already lost so much because of him.

            A light tap on the shoulder jerked him out of his inspection of some rather fine throwing knives, and he whirled around to see Minsc standing there. "Boo needs to know – does the group have money to spare?" he asked hopefully.

            Harrian grinned. Minsc had so far asked for nothing, knowing his armour and weaponry was perfectly fine to offer mindless destruction. Whatever the large ranger had found would have to be something of almighty importance or strength.

            As Corias was letting himself be badgered into buying Minsc the Warblade he had set his sights on, Imoen was studying with intense interest the magical wares Ribald Barterman had to offer. Her eyes lingered on a particularly fine mage robe which would do much better for her than the ragged clothes she had been wearing since being let out of Spellhold. Granted, she didn't want to advertise her status as a wizard in mage-fearing Athkatla, but _was _a very nice robe…

            "Hmm… t'would suit you most certainly, my wildflower," a silky voice by her ear drawled as Haer'Dalis stepped up coolly behind her and felt the delicate material of the robe. "For someone like you deserves a little bit better than the garments you are currently attired in."

            Imoen was flattered. Maybe. But that didn't mean she'd let him get away with that. "What's wrong with what I'm currently wearing?" she asked haughtily, not turning around so that the tiefling couldn't see the smile tugging at her lips.

            Haer'Dalis seemed to hesitate for a moment before carrying on as confidently as ever. "It is most practical and most certainly favours the curves of your body –" Imoen's astonished raised eyebrow went unnoticed by him at this, "-but you, my wildflower, deserve a dress so magnificent in its beauty that I think there is not a tailor in all the planes that would be up to the task."

            Finally getting a straight face, Imoen turned to look at him. "So you're saying that it takes a dress that is beyond design to make me look beautiful?" she asked. She was perfectly deadpan, but the tiefling blade knew acting where he saw it, and truly revelled in the new banter Imoen provided.

            "Of course not, my wildflower!" Haer'Dalis affected an offended air. "I am quite bruised that you would think me discourteous and unintelligent enough to suggest such an idea! Imoen, your beauty is one that surpasses the ability of this humble bard to put down in word or rhyme… though I would be quite honoured of you would let me attempt this privilege of a task."

            Imoen considered this for a moment. She was no fool, and knew full well that this was, at best, light, innocent flirting without consequence. It was more likely just the honing of bantering skills between an actor and one who enjoyed such encounters. She still needed to come up with a fitting comeback. "If you believe you have wit and skill enough for such a task, then you must be arrogant indeed, good sir Haer'Dalis," she sniffed haughtily, before turning on her heel and walking off… though not before throwing him a teasing wink as she departed.

            Haer'Dalis chuckled. This woman was most intriguing. She had a passion for life and living which, whilst contrary to his Doomguard philosophy, appealed to his fondness for drama. What appeased the Doomguard side of him was the almost unbridled darkness that ran just beneath the surface of her everyday life. It was so obvious to him, yet so subtle to all others that he believed nobody else – not even her – had seen the chaos and evil within her. It was so like that of their leader… yet different in many ways, because Imoen was such a bright and innocent individual that the corruption of her soul had a poetic ring to it which appealed almost painfully to him.

            He turned around to investigate the amulet he had been coveting before the banter with Imoen, and his eyes met with Anomen's for an instant as the cleric gave a glance in his direction. The tiefling gave him an innocent smile then moved on.

            Delryn frowned before looking back at Barterman and glaring at the four tents – all in their rolls – that lay on the counter. "A hundred gold pieces for each of them. That is a perfectly suitable offer; they are hardly the most developed tents on offer. They will keep us sheltered and that is about it."

            Ribald nodded, arms folded across his chest. "That they will, Squire Delryn, and that makes their worth easily at two hundred each. Go anywhere else and buy a tent for a hundred and you'll wake up with the rain on your face."

            Anomen sighed and scratched at his beard, idly wondering why he of all people had been expected to do the shopping. He was hardly the most experienced or gifted of people in this sort of situation, despite his father's profession.

            Behind him the door swung open to let Yoshimo into the Mart. As Anomen watched surreptitiously, he stepped towards Jaheira, who was nearest, and exchanged a few words with her. Although Delryn was no expert in reading body language, her reaction was more than slightly obviously extreme.

            The druid seemed to almost hop with anger and surprise before she whirled on her heel and strode towards the counter. Anomen felt himself cringe involuntarily as Jaheira stepped up beside him with 'business and hell' written all over her face.

            The half-elf leant threatening across the counter and glared at Ribald. Barterman met her gaze evenly for about a half second before stepping back unhappily. "Jaheira, ma'am," he mumbled under his breath. "What can I do you f –"

            Jaheira then proceeded to dictate, very calmly and quietly, a list of everything they would need for a journey. Ribald, his survival instincts kicking in, moved faster than he would have done even if Anomen had charged in screaming at the top of his voice and bringing all of Helm's fury down upon him. A pile of tents, cooking equipment, torches and even some most special and useful supplies formed on top of the counter within a few minutes.

            The druid smiled sweetly at him. Ribald drew back tentatively. This was rather like having had a wild boar gore you almost to death and then offer you a bunch of flowers. "Thank you very much, Mr Barterman." She glanced at Minsc, who picked up the pile easily, leaning down to show off the new two-handed sword slung over his back.

            The owner of the Mart nodded curtly and unhappily. There was a long silence during which he seemed to be considering something, then he eventually spoke. "All that'll be a thousand gold pieces, Jaheira, ma'am," he said at last, raising his chin defiantly and giving her a small smile as the party turned and headed for the door.

            The druid came to a halt and gave him an imperious look. "Why, Mr Barterman… I thought you were just doing this out of the goodness of your heart. After all that happened last time I came to Athkatla, I must say that I thought you had learnt the meaning of charity. For we are a most impoverished group of adventurers."

            Anomen's armour was gleaming, Harrian was carrying a most beautiful sword, Minsc had his new Warblade, Haer'Dalis sported his Melodic chain, Yoshimo's cloak sparkled most fantastically, and Imoen's bow was of a most gorgeous and magical wood. Jaheira, despite her own rugged cloak, muddy chain mail and beaten quarterstaff was not, to tell the truth, a particularly good liar.

            But she did fix Ribald Barterman with a look that had him quivering with almost fear, and he said no more as they turned to leave the Mart with their most generous gift.

            Once they were outside, Harrian turned to Yoshimo. He passed no comment on what had taken place in the store, for Jaheira throwing her weight around like that was not a particularly bizarre experience. "You found us a job?"

            The bounty hunter nodded curtly, drawing his magical cloak further around him. "I spoke to a man by the city gates. He is from the town of Trademeet, to the east and the south." He gave Jaheira a quick glance before continuing. "Trademeet has, for the past few weeks, been under constant attack from the local wildlife. Rumour has it that a Shadow Druid has taken over the nearby grove and means to drive them out, but that is unconfirmed."

            Jaheira turned to Harrian, her eyes blazing. "This is something we _must _get to the bottom of. Druids or not, the whole situation speaks of an unnatural threat to the balance and must be dealt with accordingly."

            Corias raised his hands submissively. "I wasn't going to say no. Don't worry." He took a deep breath, and glanced at Minsc. "We have all we need, thanks to Mister Barterman's generosity. May I propose that we set off right now, so as not to waste time later?" he asked lightly, a small smile on his lips.


	52. Unexpected Help

**Chapter 52: Unexpected Help**

            The sun was beginning to hide behind distant treetops by the time Athkatla was out of the group's site. Samuel Thunderburp had been informed of their movements and had been instructed not to let anyone else have their rooms in their absence. Since Jaheira had been giving the instructions, they were quite confident they'd have somewhere to return to.

            Progress had been steady and swift. Although they were only on foot, for Harrian felt they did not have the gold to procure horses, the trip was expected to be little more than three days' travel.

            The mood of the group had already lifted considerably. Jaheira did not seem to be remaining in the perpetual gloom that had settled upon her, and even Anomen, who was used to – and indeed loved – Athkatla seemed happier out in the wild.

            The road they followed was well-travelled and easy to negotiate, so there was little risk of being accosted by bandits or such. Many other travelling groups or merchant carts were passed as they moved, and a few voyagers confirmed the rumours of animals attacking the town of Trademeet.

            This was why they were not too taken aback as they saw a well-armed group of travellers heading in their direction a bit further down the road. It was only when they realised that these people were planning to intercept rather than pass them that it was noticed something was amiss.

            The leader, who was either a very slender human or a half-elf, spoke out once they were some five metres apart. "No closer, slayer of Harpers! Hold, and let justice take its rightful measure!" she yelled, holding a hand high as if to emphasise her point.

            More than slightly surprised, the seven adventurers clattered to a halt, clumsily readying weapons as the six Harpers they were faced with watched them with mildly amused – if guarded – contempt.

            Jaheira frowned, leaning heavily on her quarterstaff. "Reviane! What are you doing here? Do you not recognise me?" she responded, the surprise more than clear on her expression as she faced her fellow Harper.

            The other half-elf faltered for a moment. It was clear she had expected Jaheira's presence, but being made fully aware of it had obviously left her taken aback. "I recognise you, Jaheira," she said at last, and her words were so cold that it seemed as if compromise would be impossible. "For you, justice is not to be simply justice for a killer of Harpers, but for a traitor of Harpers as well."

            "By justice, you mean death, don't you." Jaheira's expression was weary, and she sighed deeply. "You are referring to what happened at the Harper hold in Athkatla. Unless you have been wrongly informed, then you must know that I had no choice in my actions. If there had been an alternative, I _would _have taken it." Although both of their voices were flat and emotionless, the undercurrents were so strong that the others could only watch with deep worry.

            But at this, Reviane frowned. "I know not of what you speak, Jaheira. Explain yourself!"

            The druid sighed. "Galvarey bid me to bring my companion to him so that he could determine the danger Harrian presented… but once there it became clear that it was little more of a farce – he had no interest in seeing the truth."

            Reviane shrugged. "The Harpers only told me that Galvarey was murdered by evil. His death has been so disruptive to the ranks… he was a promising person, and losing him was so…"

            Jaheira snorted. "Galvarey was an ambitious fool who would sacrifice anyone to advance in the ranks of the Harpers. He intended to take Harrian as a trophy to get himself sponsored as the Herald of Athkatla!" She made no attempt to hide the disgust in her voice.

            The other Harper raised an eyebrow at her. "An unconvincing story, Jaheira. Your hatred of Galvarey was no secret, and besides…" She gave Harrian a dubious look. "What is so special about this man? He hardly seems like a valuable trophy."

            Corias glared indignantly at her, but decided not to dignify her insult with an answer. Instead, he turned to Jaheira. "Tell her if it will help you, Jaheira. I will not have you keep my secret if it shall harm you or your position."

            The druid paused, concern and worry etched on her features. "I… very well." She gave Reviane a slow look before continuing. "Harrian is one of the Children. Galvarey believed that the fear of them would work in his favour, and wished to capitalise on it."

            The look of horror on the other Harper's face was unparalleled as she stared incredulously at Harrian. "He is a Bhaalspawn? And yet… you trust him over your own kind? You would kill your own brethren for a son of Bhaal?"

            Jaheira nodded sternly. "I do, and I would." She straightened up defiantly. "I have told you my story, Reviane, now it is time for you to do as you must." He grip on her hefty quarterstaff tightened considerably.

            The other half-elf was also going for her scimitar as Harrian stepped in between them, hands upraised. "Oh, no. No way. There is to be no bloodshed today." He looked at them both evenly. "Put down your weapons and we shall discuss this. I may be a son of Bhaal, but I do not revel in death."

            The two women glared at each other reluctantly for a moment until Jaheira lowered her quarterstaff. The conflicting emotions were clear until she slipped her mask of control back on coolly. "I will not draw arms against you, Reviane. This has been a huge mistake, and I will not be party to making another."

            Reviane did not lower her own scimitar. "I… Jaheira, the evidence is obvious. You have confessed to killing Galvarey, one of your own kind. And for what? For this Bhaalspawn… who is no saint. I see nothing to suggest that you were in the right." Her sword came up as she slipped into an offensive stance. "This is what I must do. I am sorry, Jaheira."

            The druid sighed before bringing her own weapon back up. "As am I, Reviane. As am I."

            But before things could erupt into the violence that was anticipated, hoof beats could be heard coming up the road behind them. Within seconds a fully-armoured figure astride a large grey horse so light that it was almost white in colour cantered up to them, coming to a halt a few scant metres away. "Hold Harpers! You are making a grievous mistake in attacking this Bhaalspawn!"

            The rider dismounted swiftly and pulled his helmet from his head. "Harrian Corias is not the evil monster you have been lead to believe. He may not be a saint, but that does not mean he is a creature of darkness."

            Reviane paused and gaped at the silver-haired knight before her. "Just who in the Nine Hells are you, and what do you know of this… thing?" she demanded, waving a hand at Harrian disparagingly.

            The knight bowed quickly, showing a large sword strapped to his back. "I am Sir Keldorn Firecam of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart," he introduced himself quickly. "The Order, like your Harpers, has been most worried about the presence of the Bhaalspawn Corias, and I was ordered to watch him." He paused a moment, frowning. "He has shown no signs of an evil taint. It would be wrong of you to pass judgement on him as such."

            The Harper paused a moment, thinking. "You are a knight of the Order," she mused quietly, frowning. "And you will officially vouch for this Bhaalspawn?" Reviane continued quickly and eagerly. It was clear that she would not have relished going through the duty she had been charged with.

            "I would. I am a most experience Inquisitor and thus it is my duty to seek out and destroy evil in any form. This man…" He waved a hand at Harrian almost casually, "…is not evil. I do not believe his blood holds sway over him."

            Reviane paused a moment longer, then turned to the other group. "Jaheira? You also believe that this man is not controlled by his taint of Bhaal?"

            The druid smiled humourlessly. "Only with backing will you believe my word, Reviane?" she mused before continuing. "Yes, I believe he is in control of his own destiny. He is not, as you said, a saint… but so very few men are."

            Reviane considered this for a few seconds before nodding. "Very well. I shall return to the Harpers and tell them of what has transpired. I shall… I shall try to appease them. It will be hard because passions run high in this matter, but…"

            Jaheira nodded. "I shall appreciate all that you can do. My thanks, Reviane." She gave a half-bow to the other Harper, who returned it.

            Reviane straightened up and looked at her allies, none of whom seemed to be showing any trace of emotion. "We shall return to the Heralds and inform them of what has happened. With luck, this crisis shall be brought to an end. Fare thee well, Jaheira."

            Once the group of Harpers had disappeared around the nearest corner, Harrian turned to Keldorn, who was looking mildly amused. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded, both frustrated and pleased as he placed his hands on his hips.

            Firecam shrugged. "I believe I have informed you before, Mister Corias, that it is my duty to watch over you and judge whether or not you are an agent of darkness? My mission also involves protecting you if you are a force of righteousness. Those who study Alaundo's prophecies know – or should know – that a Bhaalspawn on the side of good will have a part to play in the upcoming days so important that we cannot let them be destroyed by a group of overenthusiastic Harpers." He paused, and threw Jaheira a brief look. "No offence intended, my lady."

            "I assure you, Lord Firecam, that none is taken." Jaheira looked as if she had aged about a hundred years as she leant wearily on her quarterstaff. "Indeed, I am glad that you intervened when you did. Had you not, more blood would have been needlessly shed."

            Harrian glanced at his companions. All except Anomen – who had turned an odd shade of grey – looked quite neutral in their expressions. "Sir Keldorn, if we continue to Trademeet, you intend to follow in our wake the entire time, do you not?" he asked lightly.

            Keldorn smiled wryly. "I do indeed, Mister Corias. It is my duty to do so, and although the route shall be hard, I have to be there should you suddenly pitch towards the dark side." His expression told that he was not entirely serious, and Harrian felt quite comforted to know that this potential threat was most clearly on his side.

            Harrian extended a hand towards him. "Then may I invite you to join us, if only for this trip. I can see it being quite a lonely journey if you do it on your own, and I am sure it will be more effective in your overseeing if you are with us on our quest."

            Keldorn shook his hand firmly. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Mister Corias. When I return to Athkatla, I should be making my final report on you. Provided nothing goes wrong on this journey, I anticipate the Order will see that you are not a man of evil and thus you should be able to move freely with far less fear of unnecessary hindrance."

            Harrian nodded and grinned, then looked up at the sky. The sun had escaped even further behind the trees, and whilst the day had been hot, the air was starting to become very cool. "May I also suggest that we camp here tonight. I think if I take another step I shall collapse…"


	53. Blood and Gore

**Chapter 53: Blood and Gore**

            "Psst… Psssst. Hey. Hey there."

            Harrian rolled over under his blanket. "Bugger off. It's far too early to be getting up," he mumbled groggily. Whoever it was who had been elected to get him out of bed that morning, they clearly hadn't taken lessons from Imoen on the most effective ways of rousing him.

            Ertof Dand, however, had no need of such lessons as the large bandit took a deep breath before bellowing in the party leader's ear. "_Rise and shine!_"

            Corias almost jumped a foot in the air with surprise, which was just enough time to regret having been stupid enough to deem the roads so safe that they didn't need to put anyone on watch duty.

            As the thief was struggling to sit upright and buckle his sword belt on at the same time, Dand had moved back towards the rest of his brigands. "Oh, I hope I didn't disturb ye," he continued in an irritating mock-polite tone of voice. "My, but yer a bunch of sound sleepers. Did'nay hear the approach of us wee little bandits and now look at the mess yer in."

            Quick as a flash, the deceptively burly highwayman lunged forward and grabbed Jaheira, who had been surreptitiously trying to reach for her quarterstaff. He pulled her upright and close to him, a flick-knife in his hand within seconds, the blade pressed against the druid's throat just as speedily.

            Dand was just fortunate that he was twice the half-elf's size, because it took a man of that stature to be safe from her wrath even when holding a knife to her throat. She struggled wildly, stamping on his foot. He grimaced, but held on.

"Get your hands off me! So help me I'll…"

            Moving his feet quickly, Ertof Dand waggled his free finger under her nose. "Nuh-uh. You just stay right where you are." He pulled her further back, closer to his four companions, then looked over to Harrian, who had struggled upright in a frenzy. The other party members were also starting to gather their wits and, surreptitiously, their weapons. "Wipe the sleep from yer eyes and ye'll see me little friend, a sharp little number right at this here lassie's throat. I would'nay want to... _slip_."

            He accentuated this last point by digging the knife deeper in the soft flesh of Jaheira's neck, eliciting a rather strangled-sounding gurgle from the druid which had Harrian resisting the urge to leap forward and attempt to slaughter the bandits in one go. He knew that doing such would cause the druid's death.

            Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to keep calm, desperately attempting to formulate a plan in his head. "Okay, okay. Let's remain calm. I'm sure we can discuss this reasonably and rationally," he started slowly, clasping his hands behind his back to stop them from shaking with rage.

            Dand smiled encouragingly. "Yes, lets do just that," he declared gleefully. "I'll start. Ye'll be handing over what valuables ye have – and we've heard ye have a lot – and then we'll be going on our way."

            One of the bandits chuckled moronically. "We get what we want and ye get… well, perhaps we just get what we want. That's good enough for me," he guffawed, then stopped as Dand threw him an evil glare.

            Harrian paused a long moment, his brain still racing. Valuables were expendable. Jaheira was not. But there was no guarantee that, once Dand had their possessions, he wouldn't kill them all to stop there from being witnesses. Just because he was a brigand didn't mean he was a murderer, but it was still too big a risk for Corias to take.

            He also couldn't possibly let the highwayman harm Jaheira.

            Finally, after a lot of intense thinking, an idea flew into his brain. He knew what these brigands wanted other than possessions. Power. They had that with a hostage. What they also wanted was for their power to be recognised.

            Harrian threw himself onto his knees pathetically before starting to crawl towards Dand. "Please, no," he sobbed, keeping his head bowed so that Dand couldn't see that he was incapable of falsely crying. "This is all I have in the world. If you take my things I'll be destitute again. Please." He grabbed the brigand's leg imploringly and even more pitifully.

            A look of disgust crossed Ertof's face, and the bandit withdrew a little. "Ugh, should I let ye polish me boots while you're down on your knees? Ye have the spine of a noble, that is for certain." Dand shook his head derisively, then started as Jaheira started to struggle wildly. "What the… hold still, lassie!"

            Jaheira gave Harrian a dismissive glare so sickened that Corias knew his acting had to have been exceedingly good. "Oh, for crying at the moon, don't prostrate yourself before this weasel. That's all I'm going to stand!" she muttered, grabbing Dand's scabbard.

            Harrian for a moment hoped that he had provided the druid with the distraction she needed to break free, but it took only a moment for the brigand to tighten his grip on her and yank her away from his sword.

            "Now, there'll be none of this, lassie," Dand whispered harshly, frowning. "Ye just sit and behave yerself or you'll find this here little knife sticking in you a great deal more, ye hear me rightly?"

            "Actually, you'll be the one with a blade in your neck," Corias murmured under his breath. It seemed as if it had turned out to be Jaheira who supplied the distraction, and he who was supposed to act on it. He didn't miss a heartbeat.

            The knife he kept in his boot was in his left hand in a second as he lunged up to embed it firmly in Dand's throat. The brigand fell back with a gurgle, leaving Jaheira free to escape and deal with him.

            Meanwhile, there were four other bandits to deal with. Harrian had made sure to strap his belt on, and the Sword of Balduran was in his right hand in seconds. He whirled around, swinging to decapitate the brigand next to him. Even as he moved, the Daystar, prize from the tomb of a Lich in the Crooked Crane, was up and in his left hand to run through a third rogue as his spin continued effortlessly.

            He came to a halt in his spin, having turned almost 360 degrees, then flipped the Sword of Balduran in his hand to stab backwards at a brigand who had attempted to come up behind him. The fourth was dispatched in a downwards slash from the Daystar which split him from shoulder to groin.

            The final brigand, seeing the slaughter, turned and started to flee. He didn't get very far as Harrian dropped the Sword of Balduran to pull out a throwing knife. The bandit hit the ground still trying to run.

            The whole fight had taken precious little more than five seconds to be concluded.

            Harrian knelt down and wiped the Daystar on the grass before sheathing it, then retrieving the Sword of Balduran and going through the same routine. He straightened up at last, then turned to his seven companions.

            They were looking at him with various degrees of shock and surprise, barring Haer'Dalis, who wore an expression of intrigue. There was a long and tense silence, broken only by the tiefling eventually mumbling: "Impressive acting, my raven."

            Harrian ignored him, then glanced at Jaheira. Her expression was impassive, but he could see an undercurrent of intense discomfort running deep. "Why are you all staring at me like that?" he asked blankly. Then he looked down.

            The green shirt he had been sleeping in had turned almost completely crimson from the blood spilled by the dead highwaymen. As he turned around disbelievingly, he caught a glimpse of the carnage he had left in his wake. Five mangled bodies of a group of slaughtered brigands, missing limbs, heads; sliced and chopped at.

            Harrian felt his stomach churn as he stared at them. _You did this… you killed them in a second, without batting an eyelid._ Suddenly he found it impossible to divert his gaze, transfixed as he was by the death and the gore, the death that _he _had caused. _You even killed the one who was trying to get away. And for what?_

            Slowly, he managed to wrench his eyes away, and he glanced at Jaheira briefly, guiltily, before looking at the floor. _For her. But I doubt she appreciates the gesture. She's turned against her own kind because she believes that you're _not _the sort of monster who would do this sort of thing. You just don't dare tell her that you're not entirely sure that she's right. That at the back of your mind, a part of you is loving every minute of this death…_

            There was another long silence, during which he could feel the eyes of the others on him. What was he? What was happening to him? He had seen death before, and death of a greater scale… even death of a greater scale caused by him. What was so different about this time?

            _The glee._

"I'll be right back," Corias mumbled hoarsely, turning and stumbling towards the trees by the side of the road. "I… I'll just… go get washed." There was a river not too far away from the path they were following, which the road bridged a mile downstream. It was not particularly deep, but it would do for cleansing himself of the blood that stained him.

            The others also watched him go, all seemingly unsure of what to say. Finally, it was Haer'Dalis who broke the silence, for the tiefling was clearly the least affected by the violence they had witnessed. "I had not thought our leader a man with an unsteady stomach."

            Anomen glared at him. "I do not think it is the blood that has Harrian worried. We have all seen worse things than this." The cleric was not too perturbed by what had happened – Corias had done what was needed to be done. Perhaps a little more bloodily, but those brigands deserved little better than death. He was concerned over how his friend and leader was coping with having performed such an act of violence. With all of this unease about his Bhaal-blood, it could hardly be comforting to have been responsible for this sort of slaughter.

            "He's fine," Imoen murmured, though her face wore a frown. "He… it's not the first time he's reacted like this," she continued cryptically. "Just give him a few minutes. He'll have some things to see to. Give him a chance to sort himself out, and he'll be right as rain in a bit."

            Comforting as Imoen's words were, she barely had the conviction to back it up, and they spoke no more as they gathered their equipment to prepare to carry on with the journey. The preoccupation with both their work and their own thoughts made it far easier for Jaheira to slip away into the trees, following Harrian. 


	54. Leap of Faith

**Chapter 54: Leap of Faith**

            The river was wide, far too wide for the road to come across in a simple ford, but shallow enough that Harrian's thighs were barely covered as he knelt in the shallows of the waters, washing his hands free of blood almost frenziedly.

            They cleaned easily enough, though he was convinced there was a pink stain to his palms that hadn't been there earlier. He did not consider that it might have been born of fanatical scrubbing.

            With a groan, the thief grabbed his blood-soaked shirt and ripped it off, similarly soaking it in the waters. This was a lost cause – the fabric was light, if tough, and the fibres were not as keen to relinquish their new crimson colour. The green cloth kept a perpetually reddish tinge that would not wash out.

            Harrian released the shirt, defeated, and watched as it started to float downstream. Then he cupped his hands in the river and splashed cold water over his face and body. The icy drops trickling through his hair and down the back of his neck invigorated him, if a little cruelly, and he started to feel a bit more alive.

            As Imoen had said, this was not the first time he'd reacted like this to a situation. Only the last time he hadn't known what it was that was making him feel that way as he had strode through the massacre of the bandit camp near Baldur's Gate, slaughtering any survivors who dared show their heads, and resisting the urge to laugh at how alive the death made him feel.

            That had frightened him, but his ignorance had lead him to believe that this was a rather natural occurrence… a bloodlust that all adventurers experienced. It was only when he had seen the horror in Imoen's eyes, the disbelief in Jaheira's and the slight fear – fear for him, for Harrian – in Khalid's that he had realised something was wrong.

            When he had read Gorion's note, he had seen just how deep this love of death went, and his fear increased tenfold. He didn't admit it, not even to Jaheira, not even to Imoen… he didn't admit just how afraid of his heritage he was. How afraid that his blood would make him destroy everyone he knew and cared about before consuming his very soul.

            It meant a lot to him to know that the others believed that his blood didn't hold sway over him. That Imoen would stand by him no matter what he did, her loyalty absolute. That Jaheira was willing to abandon everything for him, because she had a faith in him that was stronger than her devotion to the Harpers. That Anomen was fighting alongside him, even though his beloved Order frowned so very much upon it. That Keldorn, a complete outsider, had seen a righteousness within him and was willing to stand up for it, even though he was a complete stranger.

            "Harrian?"

            Corias whirled around, still kneeling in the stream and thus splashing water everywhere as he turned to see Jaheira standing by the side of the bank, her stance and expression neutral and emotionless.

            "I'm surprised you're still here," he murmured, but there was only regret in his voice, no bitterness. "I would have thought you'd have… left, have returned to the Harpers or something. You must know now that they're right."

            Jaheira said nothing as she padded out towards him, the river barely going over her ankles. She grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him upright none-too-gently, unclasping her cloak and throwing it over him. "Keep that on, or you'll catch your death of cold, you fool," she murmured, shaking her head a little.

            Harrian didn't answer, and didn't protest as she pulled him gently towards the bank of the river then sat him down firmly. "You really shouldn't wander alone. I know these woods seem safe, but then… so did the road," she continued.

            Corias sighed, burying his face in his hands. "I'm really not having a good day, am I? I should have set a watch. I so certainly should have set a watch… I got complacent, and now… now look what has happened. They could have killed you for my stupidity."

            She didn't respond for a few minutes, merely stared at the banks on the far side of the wide river. "They didn't, though, did they." Realising he needed a little bit more by way of support, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. "You have to acknowledge that you saved me. And for that I am very grateful."

            He smiled ruefully, bowing his head as he drew the cloak around him a bit more, resisting a shiver. "But you see how I saved you. I didn't need to do that, I didn't need to slaughter them all like that… I didn't need to inflict so much death…"

            Jaheira sighed, and shifted around so that she was facing him. "What else would you have done? How else would you have fought them?" There was no reply, and she sighed again. "What if Anomen had been with you as you killed them? Or Yoshimo? Would you feel the same way, or would you just put it down to a threat well removed?"

            "I don't know," Harrian murmured evasively, not meeting her gaze.

            "There was precious little else you could have done. Yes, they died quickly," Jaheira started in slow, measured terms, "but then, you're a warrior, you're an efficient killer. We all are. We need to be to survive in this world. We put those skills to the power of good, but at the end of the day, we are all trained in ending lives speedily and brutally if we have to."

            Corias narrowed his eyes at her, getting defensive. "What's your point?" he asked bluntly, shifting cautiously.

            "It's not what you did that scares you, is it," the druid murmured, frowning. "It's how it made you feel that did." She took a deep breath, looking away, and her inner conflict was clear even to him. "I'm not that much of an idealist that I believe your blood will hold no sway over you. You are a son of Bhaal, after all. What I believe is that you are strong enough that the part of your soul which comes from the Lord of Murder will not consume you, that you shall always be on the side of good as long as you fight the evil within you."

            To his ears, however, the words sounded hollow and as if she was trying to convince herself as much as him. Harrian looked up at last, giving her a cold and calculating look. "I don't think your Harper brethren will agree."

            "To the hells with the Harpers," Jaheira muttered forcefully, grasping him more firmly. "They are wrong. I know this in my heart. I know that I am right to side with you, and I shall continue to do so until…" Her voice trailed off, and her gaze dropped to the ground for a long moment.

            Harrian straightened up, placing his hands on hers. "Until when, Jaheira?" he asked, his tone quiet and soft, fixing her with his gentle gaze.

            She looked up, and her eyes hardened with resolve; hardened, and yet seemed full of an inner warmth which he hadn't seen for far too long. "No until," she murmured resolutely. "My faith in you is absolute, and shall remain so now and forever more."

            Whether or not she was correct, or even if she meant it, Harrian didn't know, but he wasn't sure he cared, for with her words he felt the weights that had fallen on his shoulders lighten considerably. "You have no idea how much it means for me to hear that," Corias murmured, smiling slightly. "I… I'm going to need your faith. I'm going to need it if I have any chance of getting through these trials ahead."

            "We'll be facing them together," Jaheira told him firmly, smiling briefly before he pulled her into a firm hug. She wrapped her arms around him, sensing that he needed comfort just as much as she did. "You're a good friend, Harrian, you know that?"

            He chuckled in her ear. "Of course I am. You know me – loyalty absolute unto the end, and all of that."

            They stayed there for a long time, neither speaking, merely drawing comfort from the presence of the others. For in these dark times, in these moments when neither were sure of the path they walked, it meant a lot for both of them to know that, at the very least, they weren't doing it alone.


	55. The Roads We Walk

**Chapter 55: The Roads We Walk**

            Anomen watched as Harrian and Jaheira emerged from the trees, the former wearing the latter's cloak. They spoke quietly and quickly to each other for a moment before turning and heading off, but Delryn's attention was forced elsewhere by Keldorn's arrival.

            The aged inquisitor was leading his horse, the fantastic grey named Edumar after one of the most famous knights of Faerûn legend. He gave Anomen a bright smile and clapped the cleric on the back.

            Even though the squire was half a head taller and more muscular, he felt himself almost get knocked sideways by the mere cheerful gesture, and made a note to never find himself on the receiving end of Keldorn's blade.

            "Hold my stirrup for me, lad?" the older paladin asked brightly. Anomen nodded numbly, moving around to the far side of Edumar and gripping the stirrup leather as Keldorn mounted, so as to prevent the saddle from slipping sideways. A fully armoured knight did not always have the utmost ease in mounting his horse.

            Delryn straightened up, his eyes scanning the campsite again. Yoshimo and Minsc were taking the tents down, having finished dragging the bandit corpses a little further into the trees. Imoen and Haer'Dalis still sat on the logs surrounding the fire, finishing off breakfast. With a desire to move quickly, all that had been available was some bread and the heated up remains of last night's stew. Anomen, used to such things from his extensive campaigns, had cooked the meal, and he'd been quite delighted at the response he'd received. He'd spent much of the previous night discussing recipes with Imoen, who seemed to be the party's sole other cook.

            He frowned a little as the pink-haired mage laughed at some tale of Haer'Dalis's. From the snippets of conversation he'd overheard, it was probably the joke about the Helmite, the rogue and the barbarian in a tavern the bard had told the night before whilst Imoen was out with Keldorn getting firewood. Jaheira had been the only one who'd laughed, oddly enough – Minsc had missed the joke, and it had had nothing to make Anomen, Harrian or Yoshimo feel anything but insulted.

            _He shouldn't be telling a joke like that to a lady like her, _Delryn mused, absent-mindedly tightening the girth on Keldorn's horse. _It's… well… it's indecent._ The second buckle settled itself, and he took a step back. _Though you had no trouble with Jaheira being amused by it the other night, did you. And Imoen's not a lady. Or, at least, not the sort of lady you're used to. She doesn't sit indoors and do needlework all day long with no knowledge of the outside world, or study the tenets of the Order in between battles. _For some reason, that thought appealed to him.

Keldorn's voice interrupted his musings, and he looked up, knowing he didn't want to irritate his superior. "It's all good, squire Anomen. Thank you," the inquisitor said kindly, glancing across at the campsite. "Hopefully we should be ready to go soon."

            The cleric nodded. "Yes, sir Keldorn," he replied automatically. Then, finally, as his brain kicked in, he smiled. "I believe you have the easy option. Edumar shall be doing the walking, along with the rest of us who are horse-less."

            Firecam grinned in response. Delryn was quite amazed, but not altogether too surprised when he cast his mind back to tales told in the Order, that Keldorn was treating him as more of an adventuring equal than a knightly subordinate. To be fair, he reasoned, they were not actively serving the Order – at least, together – and thus it would be detrimental to the balance of the party if one member was to order another around.

            Still, it felt most odd being treated as the equal of one of the most distinguished knights in the Order. Though, why not? Here they were both followers of Harrian, who surely trusted him more than Keldorn, so in this environment he was possibly superior. That thought probably worried him more than anything else.

            "Keep your wits about you, Anomen," Keldorn said reproachfully, bringing Delryn back to the present and jerking him out of his thoughts. He also dispelled the illusions of being the inquisitor's superior. "Your mind seems to be running rampant this day. Do not get complacent; there are still dangers yet upon this road."

            Anomen nodded mutely, before turning and heading to extinguish the campfire. Imoen and Haer'Dalis had headed off to the river to clean out the plates, bowls and cutlery. Harrian and Jaheira were tending to their packs, whilst Yoshimo and Minsc were still struggling with the tents. Fiddling with the straps of his armour, Delryn suddenly felt a little alone, and wondered why he hadn't had this feeling before. He was too daunted by Keldorn to have anything other than a conversation tinged with his own intense reverence and tentativeness.

            As he stared absently into space, still musing, Harrian stepped up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder – the same shoulder Keldorn had previously whacked. Anomen winced slightly as another plate of metal on his armour dug into his flesh.

            "Ready to go?" Harrian asked brightly. Although his tone was light, the smile on his face was forced and there was a tired tautness at the corner of his eyes. Delryn suddenly felt quite pathetic for lamenting his own troubles in the face of those of his leader. The man was on a course for hell, and at some point he'd still have to come back.

            "I've been ready for the past five minutes," the cleric said wryly, "whilst all of you were still messing about with your other affairs." He cast a glance into the woods just as Imoen and Haer'Dalis emerged, still talking and laughing amongst themselves.

            Harrian was also gazing at them, and as Anomen gave him a quick look he saw that the rogue was frowning a very little. Delryn cast that note into the back of his mind for future reference. Eventually they were both jerked out of their twin reveries, and gave the tiefling and the pink-haired mage identical reproachful looks.

            "Come on, lazy ones," Corias rebuked lightly. "We're all ready to go, and you two are still finishing off your breakfasts. Try not to hold us all up." Despite his earlier expression, his tone was now light and there was no sign of the disapproval he had previously shown.

            Imoen laughed at him briefly. "Keep your hair on, Harrian. There's plenty of time to get to Trademeet, it's not as if we're on a deadline or anything." She moved to stow the cooking gear she had cleaned in her pack. "Besides, I'm not marching on an empty stomach."

            Keldorn, who had pulled Edumar closer to the arguing adventurers, chuckled briefly. "You should have told them to get on their feet and given them bread to eat on the way, Corias," he suggested helpfully.

            Imoen stuck her tongue out at him, and Anomen almost keeled over. _Nobody _he knew outside of this party would be foolish enough to stick their tongue out at the most revered inquisitor of the Order. "That would mean we couldn't have the rest of Anomen's stew for breakfast. That would have been a waste," she said lightly, winking playfully at the cleric, who turned an odd shade of pink.

            Harrian rolled his eyes, and smiled as Haer'Dalis laughed. He turned to Anomen. "I think you're in there, friend. The way to Imoen's heart is most certainly through her stomach," he told Delryn cheerfully, before hefting his pack onto his back.

            "But come now," the rogue continued, giving them all careful looks. "We may not be on a deadline, but I would like to be able to get to Trademeet before we all die of old age. So may I suggest you two get thy arses in gear and shift yourselves?"

            "You can suggest it, my raven," Haer'Dalis replied, not looking at him as he rolled his blankets into his pack. "And I shall do my best to meet that request, but I am not sure that our wildflower will be as receptive." Here he glanced at Imoen, who was fiddling needlessly with the straps of her pack.

            Harrian threw his hands into the air with frustration. "I give up. Just… get ready, preferably sometime this decade," he whimpered, settling down on the floor and crossing his legs in preparation for a long wait.

            It was about eight of the morning by the time they finally set off, almost two hours after they had been awoken by the bandits. Despite all that had taken place, they were mostly in good spirits, and, with a little luck, Yoshimo was predicting that it would only take another day's travel before they reached the town of Trademeet. 


	56. Most Unnatural

_Author's note: An Imoen and Haer'Dalis romance? Well… I'm not saying anything. It may or may not happen, and Harrian may or may not disapprove of the idea of it, and such a thing may or may not end up rather… erratically. Don't take that as a yes – I do indeed have something planned, but it won't necessarily be what you have in mind. I work to keep you people surprised, of course!_

_Sorry for the late addition. I'm getting… tired with the current part of the plotline. Trademeet, right now, does not promise to be too exciting. Directly _after _Trademeet, now, that… that I can't wait to get to. So I'll try to trundle through the comparatively dull yet important bits to get to the real action which is lined up for after this quest._

**Chapter 56: Quite Unnatural**

            Evalir, captain of the Trademeet militia, was most perturbed by the goings-on in the town. He had never before witnessed a phenomenon as odd as this one, and he had crammed all of his forty-three years with as much experience as a retired adventurer could manage.

            He fired off his crossbow, aiming for the throat of an approaching bear, and was rewarded by the great beast moving, getting hit in the thigh instead, and hurtling towards him, incensed in its mysterious bloodlust.

            Evalir backed off, tripping over a stone by his ankle and sprawling backwards to the floor. His crossbow fell from his hand and slid across the finely polished cobblestones bearing Waukeen's image.

            The bear launched itself towards him, and Evalir only just managed to roll out of the way, unhooking his axe from his belt and swinging it uselessly at the enraged and highly dangerous animal.

            It clawed at him, catching him across the face and sending him in a spinning sprawl to the floor. The beast took a step forward, evidently about to pounce on and maul him. Evalir froze, fear in his throat images of his wife and his family coming to the forefront of his mind, even as he swiped futilely with his axe.

            But the bear never reached him as three arrows, a crossbow bolt and a throwing knife thudded into the animal. They were quickly followed by a pair of sling bullets, pelted into the sensitive areas of the bear's face. It dropped like a stone.

            As Evalir rolled to his feet, dispatching a large spider with a hard swing – which made him feel a little better about his skills – he could see the source of the missiles leaping into the fray as the eight adventurers appeared on the scene.

            As they cleaved through the animals like a hot knife through butter, Evalir gave a quick prayer of thanks to whatever deity had brought them their way. The fight was over exceedingly quickly with their contribution.

            Harrian pulled his cloak further around him. He had cast it aside during the battle, but now, when it wouldn't impede him, he valued the protection and privacy it offered. Dusting it down, he glanced around him and spotted Evalir as he approached them.

            He extended his hand towards the militia captain, pasting a cheery smile onto his face. "Greetings. My name is Harrian Corias. I hear you've been having a bit of trouble with the local wildlife?"

            The elder and far gruffer man glared slightly at having to be thankful to such a smart-arse rogue. "Trouble? You could say that. I am Captain Evalir of the Trademeet militia," he introduced himself briefly. "I'm presuming you heard our plea for help?"

            Corias nodded briefly. "We have travelled from Athkatla to get here," he explained. "All we have been told is that animals have been attacking the town and that local druids might somehow be involved." He glanced briefly at Jaheira. "This is something that interests us… professionally. We may be able to help."

            Evalir smiled tightly. "Any help would be welcome, but I'm not too sure what you can do," he confessed, shrugging. "Go to the High Merchant Lord Logan Coprith; he runs the town. I'm sure he'll be able to tell you more. I'm just the militia captain, I don't get told the important things." He turned and gestured to one of the larger, grander buildings of Trademeet. "He lives there."

             Corias thanked him briefly, then gestured to the others to follow him as he walked across the large square at the entrance of Trademeet, the cobblestones bearing Waukeen's image. "We shall find what this Lord Logan has to say, then we'd probably to best to rest for the night and work in the morning." It was only late afternoon, but they had travelled hard for the past few days and an evening of relaxation would do them good.

            "Harrian…"

            They all turned to look inquisitively at Keldorn, who was leading Edumar. "Perhaps we would do best to get rooms at the inn first?" the Inquisitor suggested lightly. "Then I can stable my horse and we can leave our belongings. It will probably not take much more than a half-hour."

            Harrian paused a moment, considering the paladin's words, a slight frown on his face. "That's exactly what I was going to say," he said at length with absolute certainty in his voice and on his expression.

* *

            High Merchant Lord Logan Coprith sighed slightly, a frown on his face as he looked at the eight adventurers in front of him. "I'm not sure how much more I can tell you," he confessed, folding his arms across his chest and giving the guard standing by the doorway a wary glance. "There's only so much we've learnt."

            Harrian mirrored his expression unintentionally. "If you start from the beginning, when these attacks happened, we might be able to piece it together," he pointed out lightly. Although investigative work was hardly his place or area of expertise, he could think things through logically enough to know where to start. If this became a full blown investigation, he'd hand it over to Keldorn.

            Coprith nodded, then glanced once more at the guard, who was standing to attention a little _too _diligently. "Warren; go and fetch me the records from the upper office. If Mr Evans has been doing his work, then there should be a full account of everything that has taken place, when." He looked apologetically at the adventurers. "My job has many duties, and whilst the current crisis _is _of paramount importance, I have not quite committed all of the facts to memory."

            Warren, the guard, nodded attentively before bowing briefly and hurrying out the door. The eight adventurers stood in silence for a moment. Yoshimo moved over to idly study a few paintings on the wall, which were obviously of great value, as Keldorn examined some of the chinaware on the table – exquisite, but not too expensive. Harrian gave the bounty hunter swift looks, worried he might swipe a small valuable.

            Coprith said nothing until Warren's footsteps had finished echoing around the corridor, then he stood and marched to the door, closing it smoothly. "That was just a pretext so we could be alone," he said quickly. "This is my town; I know everything I can possibly know about the threat."

            Harrian frowned. "Why…" He stared silently, gaping a little before recovering and continuing. "If there is something secret, why did you not simply order him to leave?" he asked finally.

            Coprith shook his head. "The matter is a sensitive one, and he would know for sure what I would want to talk of in his absence. The man talks, then the whole town is in uproar." He returned to his seat. "We have many reasons to believe that the attacks are the result of some recent changes in the local druid grove."

            Jaheira's eyes narrowed and her fists clenched slightly as she gave Coprith an appraising look. "What… what has happened in the nearby grove?" she asked in a tone as light as she could make it.

            "I believe a change in leadership which has changed the way they… work," Lord Logan replied hesitantly. "I am not too sure. We have always enjoyed a harmonious equilibrium with the druids, until now."

            "What makes you think it's a change in leadership?" Imoen asked.

            "We have had an emissary from whatever passes for a universal druidic leadership. He was sent to investigate what was taking place, but he was captured by our townspeople who thought him responsible for the attacks," Coprith explained. "I imprisoned him myself, for his safety, but as you can see I believe his story. He insisted that there were… Shadow Druids running the grove."

            Jaheira's grip on the hilt of her scimitar increased tenfold. "Shadow Druids?" she repeated, in a voice oddly devoid of emotion. "Who is this emissary from the leaders? What is his name?"

            "He calls himself Cernd," Lord Logan said quietly. "I think, if you were to escort him out of Trademeet so he is not set upon by the mob, he might be able to settle matters at the druid grove…"

            Coprith came to a halt as the door swung open and Warren, the guard, marched in. He was red-faced, puffing but trying not to show it, and clasping a large, leather-bound volume, which he passed to the High Merchant officiously. "The records, milord."

            Lord Logan nodded his thanks before turning to the adventurers. "I suggest you go get some rest tonight then return in the morning. I should have, ah, compiled all of the records for your perusal by then. Maybe you can shed some light on the matter."

            "Aye, but if you want real answers then I reckon you should go ask that mangy druid we got down in the cells," Warren slurred, shaking his head as if in despair of the common sense of his lord.

            Harrian gave him a careful look, glad Jaheira didn't rise up to the 'mangy druid' comment. "We'll do that," he said at length, smiling falsely, if convincingly. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow we shall go and save the town, if possible."


	57. Musical Pubs

_Author's note: Sorry this one wasn't out sooner… I had to compose Haer'Dalis's ballad. It's incomplete, so rest assured it shall develop as the story goes on. Though please, a little feedback on my poetry/song writing, because this is the first stuff I've published._

_Oh, and please, Aqua-chan… don't worry too much. Anomen does indeed have a part to play in the aforementioned plans. I have something up my sleeve, and I doubt you'll be disappointed, if I can pull it off._

**Chapter 57: Musical Pubs**

            Vyatri's Pub was not an unpleasant place. As Trademeet, far from the corrupted settlements like Athkatla, was a mostly peaceful town, the taverns and inns were not filled with the wholly disreputable mobs the party was used to.

            Seven of them were seated at one of the largest tables towards the back of the tavern, Haer'Dalis having disappeared off to an unknown location. Yoshimo and Minsc seemed quite happy to sit in silence, the ranger doubtless lost in his own thoughts, the bounty hunter presumably sizing up all of those around him, wondering what valuables they might have. Keldorn, Anomen and Imoen were deep in discussion about something that left Delryn shifting uncomfortably as the mage tried to hide a smirk and Keldorn spoke with an air of amusement which the cleric failed to notice.

            Harrian watched them for a moment before turning back to Jaheira, who was making notes on a scrap of paper which they had been poring over since speaking to Coprith. There was clearly more than just the druids keeping Trademeet oppressed.

            "They seem to be interrogating Anomen quite effectively," Corias commented, forgetting their work for a moment. "The poor man seems quite traumatised." He grinned in the squire's direction, and just got a fearful look in return.

            Jaheira murmured something indecipherable under her breath before looking up at him. "Are we going to get back down to business, or are you going to worry about the Helmite all night?" she asked irritably.

            Harrian resisted the urge to shrink back. "Sorry," he mumbled at last, leaning over the paper. "It's just… I think we've got it all pieced together. Everyone's convinced it's the druids, and want to hang this Cernd because they're sure he's involved."

            "Not to mention this crisis with the genies," Jaheira replied, a little more carefully. "It seems that is also something we should look into." Her expression was hopeful without seeming even slightly pleading.

            "You just want to stay out of the city for as long as possible, don't you," Corias murmured, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I know this isn't quite out in the middle of nature… but it's an improvement. This place is not as stifling as Athkatla."

            "I thought you liked cities?" Jaheira commented lightly.

            "I do," he responded. "There's not much for a thief to steal out in the countryside. Just, sometimes, it's nice to take a break. Even the members of the corrupted in a city like to escape their influences." He chuckled dryly.

            The druid nodded briefly, then sighed. "We're off topic. I am just wondering how much we are going to do for Trademeet… if we will merely investigate the grove, or go on to solve their other big problems as well."

             "I don't see why not." Harrian paused, then leant forwards conspiratorially. "I'd think that would be an excellent idea. There will be nine of us if we take this Cernd to the druid grove to investigate matters. That's far too many people than I'm happy to work with. I think it would be better if you, me, this Cernd fellow, Imoen, and maybe Anomen – because it would be nice to have a strong fighter who can think straight and who we know we can trust – went there on our own, leaving the others behind."

            Jaheira looked thoughtful for a moment. "And in the meantime, we leave Yoshimo, Minsc, Keldorn and Haer'Dalis to deal with these genies?" she asked lightly. Then there was a pregnant pause. "Do you want to place that much trust in Keldorn?"

            "Absolutely. He is a knight, and, even with his suspicious job, has been nothing short of completely honest with us. Besides, Yoshimo will watch him," Harrian said with certainty. "If they are to convince these genies to leave, an inquisitor will be _most _helpful."

            Jaheira considered this. "True," she said at last. "And I would like to keep the number of us heading to the grove small. Imoen will be of use, for if it comes to blows the druids will be unprepared for magical spells. Are you sure you want Anomen there?"

            "Absolutely," Harrian repeated. "I want as many spellcasters at hand as possible. I also think that if he doesn't escape from Keldorn soon he's going to go mad." He cast another glance in the direction of the worried cleric to see nothing had changed.

            "A good point," Jaheira conceded. "However, I have to say that –"

            What she had to say never quite got said, for this was the moment the bartender, as portly a man as Trademeet had ever seen, stepped from behind the counter and onto the currently empty stage for entertainers and musicians to play on. There had been no sign of any such performances all night.

            "Ladies and gentlemen!" the large man bellowed, raising his hands to quieten down the crowd. All fell silent, inquisitively peering at the bartender. Whilst the current situation of the town meant that the pub was not as full as it could have been, there were still customers.

            "As you know, we have been devoid of any great entertainment since the departure of Elias Tanner's wandering minstrels. However, we have some new arrivals to our town." The glares the party's table then received made it clear that Trademeet was currently not welcoming to outsiders. "And with them they have brought one of the finest performers of Athkatla! So, presenting to you, for one night only, Haer'Dalis the bard!"

            There was some subdued murmuring as Haer'Dalis emerged from the table he had been lurking at, alone, and stepped onto the stage, shooing the Vyatri away as he straightened up. "My thanks…" It seemed clear he thought it not a good idea to explain that he was _not _of Athkatla. "It is a pleasure to be performing here tonight. For your enjoyment, I have a few songs, mostly based on some of my… recent experiences in Amn."

            Harrian caught a glint in the tiefling's eye, and felt his breath catch in his throat. "Oh god. If he's written a song about us, then I will have his neck… He'll be a bloody dead tiefling if he dared to…"

            Beside him, Imoen grinned. "Lighten up. He's quite a good bard, I'm sure he'll do you justice."

            Corias whimpered. "But I don't _want _him to do me justice," he mumbled unhappily.

            Up at the stage, Haer'Dalis cleared his throat. "To open, a ballad of my travelling group, and their epic heroics…" Anomen groaned, and buried his head in his hands as the other party members looked at each other, aghast, waiting for what melody the tiefling had composed about them.

_"These are not deeds of simple glory._

_To understand, just hear my story._

_I sing but of a hero's plight,_

_Not of each victorious fight._

_For we deal with gods and lords,_

_Feats of sorcery and swords._

_And one out of murder born,_

_Travelling a path not worn._

_First a simple, noble quest,_

_To save the one who knows him best._

_Then to find the answers old,_

_To the prophecy foretold._

_For I travel with the son of Bhaal,_

_Who listens not to murder's call_

_And is, in fact, a righteous man_

_Helping others if he can._

_Yet inside, we all must wonder,_

_Will he someday make a blunder?_

_And fall sway to evil's side,_

_No matter however hard he's tried."_

Harrian frowned as Haer'Dalis continued his ballad. The tune was an old one, but the words new, and their meanings did not seem to be lost on anyone, for all in the pub were giving the group odd looks. Corias silently cursed the tiefling, but was not wholly surprised. He knew he was excellent ballad material, and hated it.

He glanced over at Jaheira, who was watching with a pensive expression, before shaking his head. "I'm going to bed," he grunted at last with dissatisfaction. "Let me know if the fool brings the whole town baying for my blood."

Jaheira frowned. "They may get suspicious if you leave whilst he performs…" Her voice trailed off as she turned to face him, only to see he was gone. She cursed under her breath. Harrian may not have been particularly subtle in his thieving techniques, so she often forgot how easily he could slip away when he so wished.

Grimacing with annoyance and promising herself that she would talk to Haer'Dalis later, the druid settled down to listen to the rest of the bard's performance.


	58. Misconceptions

**Chapter 58: Misconception**

Cernd, emissary of the Grand Druids of Tethyr, was starting to become exceedingly tired of this cell. It was dark, it was wet, it was cold, and it was entirely unnatural. Though a thin ray of sunlight managed to creep through the tiny barred window at the top of the wall, near the ceiling, the only view that was offered was of a stone wall. Though he had conversed briefly with a bluebird a few days ago, he was sorely regretting having been so very unsubtle in his approach of Trademeet.

He had believed that his arrival would offer them hope and that they would aid him in his investigation of the local grove. As it was, he knew he was lucky to be alive, for had Coprith not intervened he would surely have been hanged by the mob.

It pained him to be forced to just sit here and wait for the situation with the Shadow Druids to simply blow over. Then he might be lucky enough to be freed, but he would have failed in his duty. He had been chosen by the Grand Druids for a reason, and he did not want to disappoint them.

Once again, the druid stood and shook the window bars hopefully, but they were as sturdy as they had been the day he'd been imprisoned, over a week ago. He would have to free himself. Maybe he could plead with Coprith… but no. The High Merchant had to think of his people first. So if he escaped of his own accord… charged the guard who brought him food, then shifted into wolf form to escape. Few people would stop what would look like a large dog looking like it meant business.

It was a plan. All he had to do was to wait the two or so hours until he would be served lunch.

Oddly enough, the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs outside came much sooner than expected. Cernd paused, crouching down and setting his ear to the ground to listen better. This was not normal. Several people… four or five, maybe.

Despite himself, a wave of fear ran through him. Maybe the mob had convinced Coprith to have him hanged. Or maybe they were convinced he held the secret to the attacks, and would interrogate him until he gave them answers. As he had no answers, torture under questioning would be very long…

There was the usual sound of the rusty key turning in the even rustier lock, then the heavy metal door swung open with a loud creak. Cernd readied himself. He had a duty to perform, and it seemed he would have to hurt these people to save them _and _the balance.

A cloaked figure was the first one in, his body stance suggesting tentativeness, but the druid didn't hesitate. He threw himself forward at the man, slamming him into the wall, before pushing off and darting out the door, slamming it shut behind him to trap the figure inside.

His staff, his beloved staff, still stood against the opposite wall next to the stairs, and he grabbed it before the four others could react. Without thinking, he whirled it around, catching an armoured woman on the chin and knocking her off her feet.

Arcane words reached his ears, and he knew they had a mage. He didn't have time to offer his own protection, and his connection with nature was currently very weak. The druid turned swiftly, staff upraised to bring down on the young girl chanting under her breath. He knew the blow was quite capable of breaking her skull, but so be it. If he had to sacrifice one life to fulfil his duty, which would save hundreds of lives, it was acceptable.

But the staff never reached its target, for the final member of the group grabbed it and yanked out of his hands, casting it aside within seconds. This armoured man raised a mace and swung it, catching Cernd in the stomach.

He knew the blow was not as hard as it could have been, for he was left without any broken ribs, but it knocked the wind out of him. He realised these people didn't want to hurt him as he felt the handle of the mace whack him over the head and knock him to the floor.

Anomen turned to Imoen, who was looking at him quizzically. "Thanks," she said at length, a small frown on her face. "I would have immobilised him before he'd struck, but I appreciate the move."

The cleric shrugged briefly as Jaheira clambered to her feet beside him, rubbing her chin ruefully. "Not only did I not know that," Delryn replied at length, "but a powerful druid like him might be resistant to your magics. Much safer to rely on the physical when the arcane is uncertain."

"Agreed," Jaheira interjected, leaning over Cernd. He wasn't unconscious, merely stunned, but they'd let him gather himself for a few minutes. "The ease with which he managed to almost beat us speaks to his power and skill."

There was an insistent hammering from the door, and an irate voice filtered through the stone walls. "I know that discussing the guy's skills is _fascinating_, but could you all stop jabbering on and get me the hell out of here?"

Imoen laughed at Harrian's distress before stepping over to let him out of the cell as Jaheira finally helped Cernd to sit upright. "Maybe that should teach you to not underestimate a desperate man."

Corias straightened his clothes haughtily as he walked out and glared at her. "We're here to help him," the swashbuckler pointed out. "I didn't think that he'd _attack _someone here to get him out of this hell-hole."

Cernd looked up at him, his expression a little dazed. "My apologies," the druid murmured at last, blinking. "I feared that the mob had beaten Lord Logan and that I would be hanged. I have a duty to fulfil and I cannot fail." His expression grew concerned as he looked at Harrian and Jaheira. "I hope I did not hurt you too much."

The thief shook his head, rubbing his forehead ruefully. "No more than I'm sure Anomen here hurt you," he pointed out, shrugging briefly. "You're alright, aren't you? I'm reckoning he held back, otherwise your skull would be a smear on the floor, but…"

Cernd shook his head. "I am unhurt," he assured him, standing up and retrieving his quarterstaff. "Now, may I ask who you are, why you are here, and how you intend to help me?" he continued lightly.

They ran through introductions briefly, the group explaining why they were there and Cernd in turn describing the duty he had been charged with and his worries that Shadow Druids were involved in the crisis.

Harrian nodded thoughtfully once they were through. He didn't like the brief, 'druidic' looks Jaheira was throwing Cernd. "Lord Logan has asked if we could escort you to the grove and help you deal with whatever passes there. But we must be careful. The people of Trademeet shall not be happy to see us lead you out of the town."

The druid shrugged. "You appear to be suitably competent adventurers," he commented lightly, though how he decided they were competent after he'd come close to single-handedly beating them was anyone's guess. "I do not think the people here are violent, either. They will pressure Lord Logan, not take the law into their own hands."

"The law does not currently affect us, anyway," Harrian pointed out, as Jaheira hunted through her pack for a spare cloak to hand the bedraggled druid. Corias clenched his jaw but said nothing.

"This depends on what law you speak of," Cernd pointed out, wrapping the cloth around himself and nodding gratefully to the other druid. "The law of nature is ruling this situation, and the mother's laws are not ones we can break." He glanced around shiftily. "However, we are wasting time."

"Agreed," Anomen interjected. "We should leave the town, and quietly, for I think that the people of Trademeet will not be particularly pleased to see us leaving with a man they want to see tied to a stake."

"He is right," the human druid responded, nodding. "We should creep as quietly as the vine instead of blustering like the wind. That was how I managed to get myself captured in the first place."

Harrian turned to Cernd, frowning a little. "Is there not anyway we can disguise you so that the townspeople will not know that their hated druid is escaping from the mob's wrath?" he asked.

Cernd and Jaheira exchanged looks, and laughed simultaneously. "There is indeed," the former assured Corias, nodding firmly. "I believe this shall be suitable. As the trees shed their leaves and change their appearances, I shall also change my skin."

As he spoke, his face seemed to shift, becoming longer and more pointed. He also seemed to be decreasing in stature, his limbs changing their shape, and hair creeping even longer all over his body. Harrian stared in horror until he realised that the man was lycanthropic, and had provided them with a perfect cover.

He grinned as the wolf shook itself vigorously, then shifted onto its haunches. "Well done, Cernd. This should make our job easier."


	59. Genie in a Bottle

**_Author's Note:_**_ Speedy progress, Aqua-chan? I'm amazed you think that, because it's been a real bugger to write recently. Hardly the same as when I was chugging out a chapter a day before the summer. Ah, those were the days. ;-)  
No, Cernd is not a permanent feature in the party, just a tag-along for the druid quest. It always struck me as unconvincing that the party would leave such a potentially useful person behind when they were going to the grove. Keldorn's not permanent either, and once Yoshimo's gone (I'm afraid I haven't been able to think up a way of keeping him which isn't unconvincing and trite) the party will be back down to normal size. Cameos from most characters will appear at various points, though it may be in the 'deleted scenes' fic which should be along later (It will consist of quests I'll miss out, because their inclusion will just put a damper on the plot speed). Edwin's scheduled to return, however, and Mazzy may well pop in, but only for a _very _short time.  
Main action starts when the party gets back from Trademeet, however. Even if I get lazy, that should be by the end of next week, for it's only… four or five chapters, max. I intend to put my own spin on all of the upcoming parts, because things are about to get busy. Nothing shall be as you know it! (Anomen's trial, the Harper plot, Irenicus and Bodhi) Well, at some point in the _very _different future things will divert to the SOA norm, but that's very close to the end, and… oh, I'll stop ranting, because this is getting close to spoiling and taking too much room. :-S ;-) _

**Chapter 59: Genie in a Bottle**

Not for the first time, Keldorn wished he had used different tactics to follow Harrian. Though the very nature of his mission had forced him into a subterfuge, using underhand tactics that went against his very nature, his code of honour had dictated that he pursue his quest in an acceptable manner that wasn't inherently dangerous.

Some would say that it was foolish of him to alert Corias and his companions of his surveillance work, but he disagreed. His skills as an inquisitor meant that he had been able to swiftly discern the depth of the swashbuckler's evil, and he had not labelled Harrian as an instant danger. The evil within the Bhaalspawn was plain to see to his trained eye, but it was also clear that good still prevailed.

Thus he had not thought himself at risk if he revealed his presence to Corias. There were those in the Order that would condemn him simply for being a Bhaalspawn, which was not righteous in Keldorn's eyes. Though it went against his duty to give the 'enemy' an advantage over his fellows, he knew that Torm would not blame him for giving a faultless man a defence against those who would condemn him without reason.

There was also the matter of Harrian's companions. Anomen, though strong-willed, arrogant, and judgemental, was hardly a symbol of evil, and would have never joined with the thief had Helm stood against it. The druid supported the balance and thus was no supporter of immorality. Corias's foster sister clearly would not stand for evil, although there was something about her that set Keldorn's nerves off horribly.

That left the other three members of the group, whom he wasn't sure about. Minsc, the great warrior, would obviously not support evil if he knew of its existence. However, his weak mind might be susceptible to manipulation, though this was hardly enough to condemn the poor man. Yoshimo, a thief of flexible morals, was most exceedingly a grey area. Keldorn hated grey areas – grey was indecision, which he had precious little time for. Then there was Haer'Dalis, a rather excessively roguish bard. He was also a tiefling, which by definition meant he had the blood of fiends in his veins.

Most unfortunately, the three anomalous members of the party were the ones that he was stuck with on this side-quest Harrian had sent them on. He suspected it was just as much to get them out of the way as it was to help Trademeet. Keldorn held no illusions of his being seen as perfectly trustworthy by the party – he had, after all, been spying on them – but he did like to believe that Harrian had sent him to deal with the genies because he wanted someone reliable and level-headed to handle Minsc, Haer'Dalis and Yoshimo.

The giant ranger from Rasheman was striding beside Keldorn as they all walked across the square that bore Waukeen's countenance, but the other two, less trustworthy – in Firecam's opinion – rogues hung back, discussing something a little bit too secretively for the inquisitor's liking.

Captain Evalir gave them a stern nod as they exited via the town's gates. The head of the militia had been considerably more friendly to them ever since their promises of aiding the town had been proven not empty. The ageing man had a horrific cut across his left eyebrow that made him seem as if he was squinting at them, but Keldorn was quite sure the gratitude was there somewhere. He returned the respectful nod.

The tents of the genies were but a hundred metres or less away from Trademeet's walls. Large, bright and in garish colours, they reminded Keldorn far more of the circus of Athkatla than anything he'd heard about the abodes of Calimshite genies.

He'd visited the Athkatlan circus recently, and although it had been the most atrocious display of attempted entertainment he'd ever seen, his wife and two daughters had adored it. Keldorn didn't stop to realise that it would be his presence that made them so gleeful, for this had been the first 'family outing' in almost ten years.

The new assignment for the Order – watching Harrian – had left him with far more free time than he would have anticipated, and he had made the most of it by spending as much time as possible with his family, gently easing himself back into the role of a father and a husband before he came back in full strength. For this was his last quest as a knight – well deserved retirement beckoned afterwards.

Yoshimo stepped ahead of the group as they approached the tents. "Permit me to deal with the initial pleasantries," the bounty hunter said lightly. "I have had… some experience with Calimshite genies, and trust I can get them receptive to us before we get down to business." He smiled that too-helpful smile of his which Keldorn hated.

Instead, the paladin just nodded firmly. "By all means, but perhaps I should take over once they are listening to us?" he suggested as politely as he could muster. "For genies are not easily dissuaded, and some extreme convincing may be needed."

"Indeed, my hound," Haer'Dalis agreed lyrically. "Whilst our parrot may set the scene, it is someone like you who shall be playing the main role, and Minsc and myself supporting if this whole performance becomes a tragedy."

The tall ranger nodded gleefully. "Minsc will be there with blade and boot if a djinn needs the righteous foot of butt-kicking placed in its rear end!"

Keldorn frowned at them both. _I'm surrounded by madmen, _he thought despairingly, stepping into the wonderfully cool shade of the genies' tents. Inside seemed quite normal – a few crates full of wines and spices, several racks of weaponry, dummies with suits of armour mounted on them as the wares of the genies was displayed before them.

Yoshimo had clearly slipped in whilst Keldorn had been talking to the others, and was currently conversing with one of the genies. Firecam wasn't sure why, but he was quite surprised to see that it had legs, and even more surprised as it turned to face him, offering a deep bow before speaking.

"Greetings to you, wayfarer!" he started brightly. His voice was rich and lyrical, possessing only a slight Calimshite accent. Keldorn reasoned that a genie would be well-travelled and well-versed in other languages. "I am Khan Zahraa of Calimshan, a Dao djinn, at your service!"

The paladin returned the bow, only his was of a more stiff military variety than the proud flourish of Zahraa's. "Greetings," he responded, then the pleasantries were clearly over as he continued, "I have been sent by Lord Coprith to persuade you to leave."

The genie grinned broadly, then looked at his companion, who was polishing the blades on the weapons rack. "Ah! At last the mortals have sent an emissary, then. Truly they are of limited intelligence to have waited this long. No doubt they quaver in fear of our power, and rightly so!" the djinn laughed. For some reason he reminded Keldorn of Yoshimo, who was standing next to the genie and nodding as brightly as possible.

The cheerful expression of the djinn faded as he turned to face the half-party. "But if you have come to plead and persuade, mortal, then your breaths are wasted. The Dao do not intend to leave until we have what we came for," Zahraa said, sounding genuinely regretful.

Keldorn nodded curtly. He had spoken around, asking as many villagers as possible to tell him what they knew of the genies. "Yes, I have heard... the rakshasa.  What would you say if I found this creature for you?" he offered lightly. A rakshasa was not a creature he had a vast amount of experience fighting, but he was a skilled enough warrior to adapt if necessary.

Zahraa looked pensive for a long moment. "I would say, mortal, that I wish the head of this rakshasa returned to me… and once that was done, despite the amusements we have found here, the Dao would return to Calimshan," he said at length, his voice quiet.

"Do you have any idea where this rakshasa might be?" Yoshimo asked hopefully, toying with his katana.

Zahraa appeared amused once again. "If we knew where she was we would go and collect her, yes?" he pointed out, shrugging. "As a shapeshifter, I am sure she hides in the form of yet another tiresome mortal. It is a tactic her kind use often."

Yoshimo turned unhappily to Keldorn. "I hate shapeshifters," he declared, his expression oddly flat.

"It is doubtful that she and her companions actually reside in the town, itself," Zahraa continued, ignoring the bounty hunter. "The appetite and predilections of the rakshasa would not keep her hidden among you for very long."

"But we are sure she is somewhere in the area," the second djinn piped up, setting a large scimitar back on the rack. "Perhaps hidden and preying secretly upon you mortals, as the rakshasa do. But who knows, really? She could be anywhere."

Zahraa nodded serenely. "Why, little mortal?" he asked Keldorn. "Do you intend to bring Ihtafeer's head to us and end our stay in this dreary little place? We would look forward to a mortal finally ending this business."

Keldorn paused a second, not wanting to make it seem as if he was _too _willing to agree to the genie's demands. "Very well," he stated at last firmly. "I will attempt to find this rakshasa and bring her head back to you."

Zahraa's craggy yet unnatural face broke into a broad and bright smile. "Ah, this is a good thing! The Dao wish you well on your hunt, then, and await eagerly the sight of Ihtafeer's head!" he declared brightly.

Once they were outside, Keldorn turned to his companions. "If this rakshasa is not in Trademeet yet is near enough for the genies to remain here, then Ihtafeer should be somewhere out in the wild. It could be a long hunt with no leads."

Haer'Dalis shook his head. "Not necessarily, my hound," he started, raising a hand. "For I have spoken with some of the townspeople. The woods around Trademeet are largely uninhabited by civilized beings, save the druids… and a woman who lives near the grove, selling potions. Perhaps she would know something."

Keldorn paused another moment, thinking. "It's a start," he admitted, frowning slightly. "Do you know where this woman lives?"


	60. Allegiances

**Chapter 60: Allegiance**

The first group was making better headway through the thick undergrowth of the forest around Trademeet than had been expected, although Anomen was starting to wish he had forsaken his armour. Not only was he finding it excessively hard to travel through the woodlands with it on, it was getting very, very dirty. And he'd run out of armour polish.

Jaheira and Cernd, as druids, were practically bubbling out in the wild, especially as one had been stuck in a cell for several weeks and the other confined to a city, with the only exposure to nature being a highly cobbled, civilized road. They moved so smoothly and confidently that even Jaheira's usual calm and assured pace seemed jerky and erratic.

They were at the front, a little bit further ahead of the others. Harrian, behind them, kept on glancing up at their backs, frowning, then muttering under his breath and staring at the floor. He'd say it was to keep his footing. He presumably just didn't want to look at them.

As Anomen couldn't move as smoothly as the others, he was also lagging a little way behind. Imoen kept pace with him, slashing some of the thicker branches away with her short sword, and they talked easily about her past in Candlekeep, which included a few amusing anecdotes about Harrian's history. He kept the focus on her, skilfully evading questions about his own childhood, and trying not to show how embarrassed he was that she needed to help him as they travelled.

Because of how they hung back and the druids were way up front, Harrian lingered alone in the middle, lost in his own thoughts, throwing the occasional glare at Cernd. As an emissary of the Grand Druids – whoever the hell _they _were – he was, technically, Jaheira's superior, but Harrian had no idea how you got ranks and such in nature. Still, she seemed to be almost fawning over him in a most disconcerting manner which Corias hadn't noticed her ever using for anyone else who was technically her superior.

His gaze was still on the floor, mulling over this latest realisation, which is why he didn't notice that they'd stopped. He stumbled on a tree root and almost slammed into Cernd's back. The two men staggered for a moment, until Jaheira reached out and steadied them, not even looking at either of them. Her gaze was fixed at a distant point somewhere out in the trees to their left. "There's…"

Just as she started speaking, a tall, cadaverous man emerged from the trees where Jaheira had been staring and started towards them. Harrian had the Daystar in his hand in a second, but the grey-haired human ignored the show of hostility and stepped up to Jaheira, a not unpleasant smile on his face.

Her face paled, and an expression which was mixed between pleasant surprise and tense trepidation crossed it. "Der… Dermin? Is that you?" she gasped, delight winning over trepidation. "It has been some time!"

Dermin Courtierdale nodded sternly. "Indeed," he said, his blue eyes unblinking as he looked her over. "It has been a very long time." Although lanky, he towered over even Anomen, and would probably give Minsc a run for his money. He seemed possessive of the sort of calming, cool air that made him seem unflappable and reassured those with him… but scared the bejeesus out of anyone facing him.

The delight faded on Jaheira's face. "What is the matter, Dermin?" she asked at last, worry creeping into her voice. "You would not have let me walk on by, would you? I know we did not always see eye to eye, but I assure you the respect…"

Courtierdale's expression became even colder. "I may well have let you pass, for there is no joy in my visit today," he intoned gravely, shaking his head. "Jaheira, do you remember the lessons I taught you?"

Jaheira was looking increasingly uncomfortable, and she nodded gloomily. "Of… of course, you were the one that introduced me to the Harpers," she recollected, staring off into the distance. Although confusion reigned on her face, there already seemed to be a deep acceptance of what was to come.

Dermin's eyes narrowed, showing a hint of emotion. "Yes, yes, but the lessons?" he prompted, a trace of the faintest irritation creeping into his voice.

Jaheira's gaze snapped back to face him, and she straightened up. "What are you getting at, Dermin?" There was a little more control back in there, and when Anomen and Imoen caught up with the group they saw none of the agitation she had displayed moments ago – they only saw Jaheira.

Dermin also stood tall, imposing. The Daystar had fallen in Harrian's hand to face the ground, but he had never seen the thief's blade as a threat – or, at least, one he had acknowledged. "I am not here to rehash our friendship," he stated gravely. "Jaheira…" His voice trailed off, and it was his turn to look uncomfortable. Courtierdale stared at the floor for a moment before looking back up. "I have been sent to kill you, or otherwise seek your downfall, and I do not relish the duty." His voice was stern again, impassive, his eyes cold and hard. He was dedicated in this duty.

Jaheira smiled, an odd and scary humourless grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I see.  And what power has decided that I should be killed? I serve nature and protect the good of the land through my work as a Harper. Who have I offended?" Her words were mocking, but there was only a cool harshness in her tone.

Dermin failed completely to hide his amazement at her words. "Who…? Jaheira, you travel with a killer of Harpers. I do not wish to think you had any complicity in those acts, but here he is and he is still alive!" he exclaimed, the sub-zero exterior fading as he waved a hand at Harrian, who looked mildly offended but said nothing, not wanting to interfere.

Jaheira shrugged indifferently. "I have washed my hands of the incident in the Harper Hold. Galvarey was in the wrong and brought his fate upon himself," she declared, as if that was all to the matter and she would hear no other foolish nonsense.

Courtierdale met her gaze harshly. "We know nothing of this. There is only the fact that you… you and your friend were the cause of many deaths. This cannot be ignored," he stated firmly.

Jaheira's eyes flared, and the anger was back on her face as she gave Dermin the traditional glare. "He was in the wrong! Of that I am certain! Galvarey sought to imprison Harrian for his own gain and I took the side of right. I could do no other!" Though her voice was level, if insistent, Harrian had a nagging feeling she was trying to convince herself as well.

Dermin shook his head, and there was a trace of sadness about his expression, a sort of bitter regret. "It is not seen that way, Jaheira. Exact the necessary justice. That is the only route to redemption for you. The others… will not accept you otherwise." He seemed almost pleading, were it not for the implacable look in his eyes.

The druid shook her head firmly. The others seemed forgotten in the moment of confrontation. "This is wrong, Dermin. This is not the right solution," she said, taking a step back, grimacing.

Courtierdale shrugged, seeming truly sorry for placing her in this position. "I cannot see this ending otherwise, Jaheira. Your own have died. What do you intend to do about it?" Although his voice was gentle, it was clear that he would not be kind to her decision.

Harrian stepped up and placed a hand on her shoulder. He felt her jerk inadvertently, though didn't see the movement with his eyes. "I have been far too much of a burden already, Jaheira. Do what you think is right. You can get yourself out of this mess right now," he said, knowing it was the right thing to say. Though he could not claim complete nobility, for a large part of his mind already knew what she would do.

Jaheira stared at him for a long moment, and he thought he would lose himself in her dark-eyed gaze. He wanted to banish all of her fears, just take her into his arms, damn Courtierdale and all the others to the hells, and have this world, this moment for them both, free from everything.

Then she looked away and he snapped back into reality. Dermin raised an eyebrow at her, awaiting her decision. As she considered, Courtierdale gave Harrian a brief sideways look, tinged with a bit of disgust, but there was a trace of respect in the nod he gave him.

"Dermin, I…" Jaheira's voice trailed off. It was quavering so much Harrian feared it would break, and that thought scared him. Then she shook her head firmly. "Dermin, I cannot do as you ask. You are in the wrong, as was Galvarey. I was right to choose Harrian's side, and it is your loss if you cannot see this," she said, in a hurried rush but with absolute certainty.

Courtierdale grimaced, his brow furrowing. "Consider carefully what you are saying, child. You have a duty to justice." In any other situation, Harrian and Imoen would have been highly amused at Jaheira being called 'child'.

"This is not justice!" Jaheira snapped, shaking her head firmly, a glare in her eye. "This is revenge for a lie, a falsehood that none seem bothered to find the truth behind. If this is Harper justice then I…" Her voice trailed off, and she stared at Dermin in a long silence.

The other Harper took a deep breath, and swallowed. "What are you saying, Jaheira?" he asked at length, the tension all around them reaching an unbearable level. Anomen shifted uncomfortably and his armour squeaked. They all turned to glare at him, only getting a sheepish shrug in return.

Jaheira spoke at long last, staring at the tree to her left. Her voice was hoarse, distant, as if coming from another plane of existence. "If this is the justice you represent then I… I renounce you. I renounce… I renounce my life as a Harper." The glint in her eyes returned, and she looked at Courtierdale defiantly.

Dermin's confident exterior was gone in the face of her actions. "Jaheira, you cannot mean… Think this through!" he almost begged, shaking his head, absolute shock registering on his features.

"It would seem I am the only one that has thought any of this through!" Jaheira snapped, now livid in the declaration of her decision. "You do not, Galvarey did not, and now the Harpers out for blood do not! I mourn many fellows of the Harp, but they died fighting for balance and truth. Galvarey did not, and this matter cheapens their loss." Her expression soured deeply. "I will not be party to it."

Dermin stared at her for a long moment, the mask slipping back over his face within seconds. "So be it then. I will take your words to those that will listen. Do not expect your life to be peaceful with this choice," he warned, shaking his head and turning to go. Even as he walked off, his own confidence in his surroundings surpassed even Cernd, and he had disappeared in the trees before they even knew he'd left.

Jaheira stared after him for a long moment, her brow furrowed. "It shall not be peaceful, but it is clearer than the course you are on. Goodbye Dermin," she whispered, before turning away and taking a deep breath.

Harrian stepped back up beside her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low. "I know I'm making all of this bad for you, wrong for you… is there anything I can do? Are you sure about doing this?"

Jaheira raised a hand to stop his worrying. "I am fine." She straightened up, and looked around. All of the others were staring at her, Cernd showing absolute confusion and mild trepidation. "We should go. The grove needs seeing to."

Then she set off at her previous pace, Cernd falling into step beside her. Harrian stared at them for a long moment, glanced at Imoen and Anomen – who shrugged simultaneously – then set off the way he had been before, head low. Delryn lurched into a branch, Imoen hacked it off the tree, and they were back on their way. The only difference was the weight of their hearts.


	61. Maintaining Balance

_Author's note: My fan-base is currently busy! All of the comments are most welcome. Perhaps I should set up a forum so you can discuss this fic. ;-)_

**Chapter 61: Maintaining Balance**

Nobody said anything more as the group approached the clearing Cernd insisted was the entrance to the druid grove. Jaheira had kept quiet, answering a question as simply as possible if asked, but not addressing anyone with her own issues.

The trees were less thick here, and even Anomen could travel with considerably greater ease. The cleric was swinging his mace restlessly, clearly intent on making himself useful if a fight broke out.

Harrian stumbled over a dead fallen branch and swore before glancing around, taking in his surroundings properly. He slowly realised that there was much to the druids' chance of regime than the attacks on Trademeet. "All the trees are… dead," he murmured numbly, seeing logs, trunks and branches littered all around the stony and hard floor of the clearing.

"The land is being poisoned," Cernd intoned gravely, his brow furrowing. "The Shadow Druids are sapping nature of all of her strength, all of her goodness. Eventually all that shall be left here is death."

Imoen kicked a pebble. It shot towards a large rock, ricocheting off and then bouncing around some of the nearer dead tree trunks before landing in a pond with a concerning '_gloop_'noise. "Why?" she asked at last. "I thought Shadow Druids were just druids who wanted to destroy civilization, not the land."

"Their stance towards civilization disrupts the balance," Jaheira explained as the party continued, skirting around the thick, gloomy waters of the pond. "The connection required to make all of the animals attack the town has to be a draining one. They are making nature act unnaturally. The land suffers."

The area seemed dark, oppressive, and Harrian knew he _really _wouldn't want to be around here on his own at night. "We have to end this," he said at last with a conviction that surprised him. He wasn't quite sure why he cared so much about this.

Cernd nodded. "Of course we do," he said simply, blandly. "The grove's this way," he continued, nodding northwards. "Though we are quite likely to meet resistance. The Shadow Druids will have many spies, and will be anticipating our arrival. Obviously they will not want us to be here."

An eerie silence hung in the air as they started towards the north. The place was truly dead, for not even the song of birds could be heard. Corias silently labelled this place as officially giving him the creeps.

The clearing was not too large, and the grove plainly in the centre of it, at the very heart of the corruption of the land. It was seen only as the mouth of a tunnel in the rock leading to the underground caverns of the grove. The only sign of the presence of man was the four pillars by the entrance, which looked more like standing stones but were clearly not natural in their arrangement. This was presumably the site of outside rituals.

It was not, however, empty. Their arrival was clearly expected, and the druids had even turned out a welcoming party to greet them in the traditional Shadow Druid way – with clubs swinging, scimitars flashing, spells throwing.

However they were outnumbered and outmatched, and disposed quite quickly. A well-placed fireball from Imoen, who had been earlier coaxed by Harrian to have some faith in their magical use licence, weakened them considerably. Cernd, in wolf form, had savaged the lead druid, and Corias and Jaheira finished off another between them… but it was Anomen, mace waving wildly, invoking all the power of Helm, who caused the most devastation.

As the last summoned animal fell to the floor, the cleric came to a halt in his fighting, chest heaving, mace dangling heavily by his side. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his free hand, and grinned at the others, who were looking and feeling a little useless. "I have served my purpose," Delryn assured them smugly.

Imoen grinned brightly at him, and was about to make a comment when footsteps could be heard echoing from the entranceway of the tunnels. They all whirled around, scimitars, quarterstaffs, swords and maces at the ready, only to see a short, thin-looking man in ragged clothing hardly looking as if he was about to present a fight.

The young druid, whose face held a haggard look making him seem older than he actually would be, looked tentatively at the group. "Ah… I see you…" He wilted a little under their glared, before bobbing his head hurriedly. "Please, no more bloodshed. I bid you to enter and say what you will to Faldorn, head of this grove." He seemed to spit the name of the grove's Grand Druid.

Jaheira, Imoen and Harrian exchanged shocked looks, their eyes wide with surprise. "Faldorn?!"

* *

Faldorn the Shadow Druid and head of the grove near Trademeet grimaced as she saw the five adventurers arriving before her, but managed to affect a sneer to hide her aggravation. "My word," she murmured, raising an eyebrow disparagingly. "I did not expect to see your sorry hides again! What are you here for? You dare defy the Shadow Druids once more?"

Jaheira took a step forwards, almost trembling with anger. "We defied you before," she spat, glaring her customary glare. "Defying you once again shall be a simple matter, defiler of nature!"

 "Me? The defiler of nature?" Faldorn repeated, visibly incredulous. "You are as much of a weakling as you once were! You do not understand just what nature needs! You would let nature die if she were placed in your hands!"

Cernd interjected, presenting an impersonal representative of the druidic needs, and stopping Jaheira from throttling Faldorn there and then. "The land here is dying, Faldorn, and you are causing it. We are not here to judge your beliefs about nature, we are here to stop you from destroying her!"

"Interloper!" Faldorn shrieked. "I am the ruler here! Your words mean nothing; _are _nothing!" She stood from her large, stone throne, which was about as pretentious as Harrian believed a druid could get. "You shall not torment me again!"

The Shadow Druid gave them a long, disparaging glare, before her eyes eventually settled upon Jaheira. "Where is your pathetic mate, weakling? Has he perished, the harshness of the world proving too much for one as pathetic as him?"

Harrian had to lunge forward to grab Jaheira's arm to again stop her from attacking Faldorn there and then. She didn't struggle, but he could feel her shaking with rage, and… sorrow. The would had been prodded again.

He glared daggers at Faldorn.

"He does not concern you," Jaheira said at length, only now her voice was cold, calm and emotionless. Faldorn should have known this meant greater danger than when the half-elf was raging furiously. "You will not speak of him again."

She straightened up, shrugging off Harrian's hold. "I shall challenge you for leadership of this place. You cannot rule here any longer or the land will die. I shall fight you, as is my right, for my duty lies in protecting nature, which you are defiling."

Faldorn considered her for a long moment, before stepping forward, head held high. "Very well. I accept your challenge. No armour, no weapons other than the power of nature – thus it shall be the mother who decides who is the victor."

"As it should be," Jaheira declared firmly, then instantly slipped her chain shirt off and dropped her scimitar, leaving her only in a simple tunic. Faldorn was already unarmed and without armour, and nodded as she turned to her. "Let us go to your arena, then, so that others cannot interfere."

Harrian grimaced, stepping up beside the half-elf, concern etched in his expression. "Are you sure this is such a good idea?" he asked, chewing on his lower lip. "Perhaps Cernd should fight, he is…"

"He is tired, underfed and his connection to nature is not as strong as it once was," Jaheira responded firmly, shaking her head. "I can and shall beat her, for that is what I must do." There was a long silence as she took in his worried expression. "Fear not – I am capable of taking care of myself, as you well know." She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, then turned back to Faldorn and nodded yet again. "I am ready."


	62. Final Blow

**Chapter 62: Final Blow**

The two druids faced each other across the tiny arena. They both carried hefty oak quarterstaffs, completely without enchantments and, in the eyes of druids, weapons of nature. They were perfectly even.

Apparently. For, even with these rudimentary weapons, they were far more dangerous than anyone could have guessed. Jaheira might not have necessarily been able to invoke as much of nature's power as Faldorn, but she had learnt to protect her beliefs with her own strength as well, so they were overall well-matched.

With a cry, the Shadow Druid lunged forwards, swinging her staff in a blow that Jaheira blocked easily. The half-elf then returned with a flick of her weapon which caught Faldorn in the stomach, causing her to double over with pain. The quarterstaff twirled dangerously, hitting her in the face and sending her sprawling to the floor.

Now she had some breathing space, Jaheira raised her eyes heavenwards, seeing the sky through the hole in the caverns above her, and murmured some words under her breath. As Faldorn clambered to her feet, she saw her opponent commence the transformation to black bear.

The Shadow Druid swore loudly, before commencing her own chanting. Even as the bear lunged at her to sink its teeth in her neck, her skin hardened and solidified, becoming as sturdy as the bark of trees.

Jaheira, still in bear form, let out a grunt as her teeth were proven useless against the magical protection, and she drew back, hitting Faldorn with her clawed paw. The strength of the blow was enough to knock her opponent sideways, but did no lasting damage. The Shadow Druid was now impervious to her attacks.

She prepared to switch back into humanoid form so she could combat Faldorn with spells of her own, but even as she changed, the Shadow Druid raised her hands and started chanting loudly and swiftly.

The hole in the caverns helped both druids in their connecting to nature, but it also gave Faldorn a particularly great advantage as the light from the sun was snuffed out by black clouds hovering over their location.

Still changing back to her natural form, Jaheira looked up…

…and immediately fell back to the floor as a bolt of lightning hit her straight on, setting her nerves alight with pain and rendering her limbs inoperative. She slumped to the floor, darkness starting to fill her vision.

Faldorn let out a cry of delight and leaped forwards, quarterstaff in hand. She swung it at Jaheira's unprotected head in a blow that was obviously not designed to kill, but punish. Though it never reached its target, for the half-elf's hand snapped up and grabbed the staff in mid-swing, pulling it and twisting Faldorn's arm as she easily disarmed the Shadow Druid with the skill of one who does not solely rely on nature in their quest to defend it.

Faldorn's barkskin had, by now, worn off, so she was left quite defenceless when Jaheira punched her in the face. The half-elf druid clambered to her feet unsteadily, but still very much fighting, before starting her own incantations.

A club of pure energy and power formed itself in her hand, and she struck Faldorn with it, knocking the Shadow Druid even further to the floor. She, unlike her opponent, was not going to punish – merely end the fight.

Or, at least, that was what she wished to do. Even as she raised her Shillelagh to beat Faldorn, the Shadow Druid reached out for her in one final, desperate tactic to avoid losing everything she had fought for.

Jaheira had not been anticipating a last retaliation, and failed to defend herself as the poison seeped from Faldorn's hands where it had been conjured up and into her body, into her bloodstream.

With a yelp of surprise and pain, Jaheira drew back, dropping the Shillelagh. She let out a shudder as the poison ran through her veins, and sank to her knees. She heard a distant yell, but as the world drifted away from her, couldn't identify it. Her eyes closed tight and she bowed her head, murmuring under her breath as fast as she could manage, knowing she would have to end the poison now.

Even as relief came, neutralising the killer substance within her and she dared open her eyes, stars exploded in front of them as she was hit across the head with the quarterstaff in a killer swipe from Faldorn.

Having taken a massive beating already, Jaheira fell to the floor heavily, barely managing to roll over to face Faldorn as the Shadow Druid approached, staff upraised, the light of battle and bloodlust in her eyes.

"So your weak mate fell before you, did he?" she sneered, having to get the last word in. "Well, now I do you a favour! Here you go to join him!" the Shadow Druid bellowed, swinging the staff down with all her strength.

Although Jaheira was tired and hurt, Imoen would never have thought that she would be incapable of dodging this lazy yet powerful blow. But, even as they watched, gathered high above them around the arena, Jaheira offered no resistance, made no move to save herself. Something about her seemed to be accepting what was coming. She was accepting Faldorn's favour.

But the staff never hit her, although not by lack of trying. The source of strength that made it a weapon about to relieve someone of their life was suddenly and violently removed as Faldorn fell to the floor, a throwing knife in her eye, piercing her brain.

Even as everyone around leapt to their feet, shouting all at once, the thrower of the knife leapt down the large drop and landed beside Jaheira, ignoring the outrage and surprise of the druids and his companions.

Harrian drew Jaheira to him, resting her head on his lap as she looked weakly up at him. "Easy, now," he murmured, scrabbling in his bandolier to come up with a healing potion, instead coming up with a bottle of ale.

The druid let out a low, weak and unconvincing chuckle. "I don't think that will do the trick," she murmured feebly, looking up at him. "But what… what are you doing? The fight… the challenge…"

"Cernd's taking care of it," Corias murmured absently, finding a healing potion. It was a small one, and would hardly do the job needed, but it should relieve some of the pain. "Don't worry about anything. Drink," he instructed, uncorking the small flask and lifting the light blue liquid to her lips.

She complied in one gulp, and let out a sigh that seemed to be full of a bit more strength. "Thank you…" Jaheira groaned, grasping his hand and the flask in one grip. "Thank you for saving me…"

"Don't pretend you're glad," Harrian said curtly. Imoen was not the only one to see her willingness to die. "Despite what you want, or what Faldorn wants, I'm not letting you slip away from me."

Ignoring her protests, he secured his grip on her and lifted her up from the ground, holding her in his arms. "We have to get you out of here. I'm not sure you're safe… I'll let Anomen tend to you."

It was hard to clamber up the walls of the arena when carrying her, but as the aforementioned Anomen and Imoen reached down to help him climb up, Harrian emerged in the grove, still clasping Jaheira, who had slid off into unconsciousness.

An older druid, as ragged as the others in the grove, was arguing furiously with Cernd. "It doesn't matter what Faldorn did or believed in!" he snapped angrily. "The fact is, the challenge was not fought out properly. The tradition was not observed! This interloper –" he pointed at Harrian "-intervened! You know what the price for this is."

"I would assume death?" Corias asked, his expression mild but his voice so cold it could chill even the glaciers of Icewind Dale. He raised an eyebrow at the man. "Do not tire me, presume to command me or deign yourself suitable to judge me. The Shadow Druid is dead, your precious land shall fix itself. I am now leaving to heal her."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the entrance, head held high, clasping Jaheira's unconscious form as tightly as he dared. He threw them no backwards glanced, and did not even notice Anomen and Imoen step up beside him.

"Why did you do this?" the older druid bellowed after him. "Who is she to you to make you defy the oldest laws of nature?" Cernd placed a hand on his arm to try and calm him, but he shrugged it off.

Harrian halted at the entrance to the caverns. He paused a long moment, silhouetted against the bright sunlight of outside, before turning and facing the ageing druid, fixing him with a piercing look. "The woman I love." Then he looked at Cernd. "Do what you will with this place – the threat to Trademeet is gone. Do your druidic things, but don't bother me again with them. I have officially stopped caring."

Anomen and Imoen had failed to look surprised at his first declaration, and from the looks they gave him he wondered how long they had known this 'news'. But he didn't think for too long as he turned once more and strode off, away from the grove and onwards… to whatever there was.


	63. Love's Logic

**Chapter 63: Love's Logic**

It was a day later. They had returned to Trademeet, encountering Keldorn and the others in the middle of a fight during their trip, and discovered that the animal attacks had come to an abrupt halt. The head of the rakshasa which the others had obtained left the genies particularly gleeful, and the Dao had departed the town within an hour.

All they had heard from Cernd, apparently acting as temporary grand druid, was a brief message from the young man who had encountered them at the entrance to the grove. All the shapeshifter had offered were his thanks. Harrian, not particularly caring for the thanks of 'meddling druids', had taken much perverse delight in offering the young man a gold coin for his troubles. It was about the most useless thing you could give someone who shunned civilization.

The moment they'd returned, Anomen had taken Jaheira to her room in the inn, insisted on being left alone as he tended to her multiple and varied wounds, then had only emerged several hours later to ban Harrian – or anyone else, for that matter – from seeing her until he said it was acceptable.

Lord Coprith had been ecstatic at the news that the party had not just removed the threats of the animal attacks, but had sent the genies on their way, thus leaving Trademeet safe and economically flourishing once again. He had also promised them a surprise he would unveil at midday.

It was eleven o' clock now, and Harrian was considering beating Anomen until the squire let him see Jaheira. He knew that she needed rest, but had a feeling the cleric was being overly cautious. She'd already been stuck in the room for eighteen hours, _and _had been tended to with the best healing spells Helm could offer.

The thief looked around Vyatri's pub despondently, sipping his tea tentatively. He wasn't too sure about the food and drink of this place, but maybe that was just because he'd been spoilt by Thunderburp's extensive alcoholic selection.

The others were littered in pairs around the tavern area. Waving his arms dramatically to aid explanation, Haer'Dalis was retelling the version of the hunt for the rakshasa which was tinted with artistic licence, and sounded far more dramatic than the version Keldorn had told Harrian. Yoshimo seemed to be relating another, more reasonable – though not necessarily correct – version to Anomen, who was obviously only half-listening. Tired from tending to Jaheira, Corias thought mildly. Keldorn and Minsc, who had developed whatever kind of friendship anyone could have with the gentle ranger, seemed to be comparing sword size. The Warblade beat Hallowed Redeemer, but didn't quite have the same divine edge to it. Nobody was paying attention to Harrian.

The thief stood and headed for the stairs immediately. To the hells with Doctor Delryn.

Due to the fact that his party had suddenly grown and his pocket shrunk, Harrian had done his best to convince people to share rooms to cut down on costs. Jaheira and Imoen had shared, he and Anomen, Yoshimo and Haer'Dalis, and Keldorn and Minsc. Because Anomen had kept watch on Jaheira all night, Imoen had decided to take his bed. Although she and Harrian hadn't shared a room since they were young children, it had hardly been a shock to the routine.

Corias strode past his own door confidently, and moved on to the next one down, knocking abruptly and barely waiting for an answer before striding in with his usual, professional disregard for closed doors and privacy.

Fortunately, Jaheira was fully dressed, perched on the end of her bed and polishing her muddy scimitar with what looked like the second tub of Anomen's armour polish, which he claimed had gone missing. She looked up, and managed a relatively bright smile as she saw him. The paleness was gone from her face, and she seemed fully healed.

"I see you have yet to learn the values of the simple courtesy of knocking," the druid commented dryly, though there was still the quiet unhappiness in there which had grown since their encounter with Courtierdale.

He shrugged. "I'm a thief," Corias pointed out lightly. "Simple courtesies get me captured or killed. Besides, I knew you wouldn't mind." He grinned briefly if a little unconvincingly, then pulled a stool up beside the bed.

"How insightful of you," Jaheira murmured, frowning and returning her attention to her blade. A long silence fell upon them.

"Yoshimo and the others picked up a pair of very nice scimitars on their quest," Harrian commented helpfully and blandly. "If you don't want them, we can sell them. Might help pay for some new robes for Imoen, but I'm sure she'll get perfectly nice ones with the money from one sword."

"I'll take a look at them," the druid answered in a rather non-committal tone.

Another silence fell upon them, in which Harrian played with his bandolier a little absently, before finally blurting out what he had been trying to work himself up to say since he'd stepped in the room. "Why did you fail to dodge?"

Jaheira blinked, then looked up at him. "What?" Her expression showed mild surprise and a lack of comprehension he was sure was false.

"Faldorn's quarterstaff. If I could get a throwing knife in my hand, aim it, and chuck it at her before she hit you, you could roll out of the way. I know you, Jaheira. I've seen you dodge a blow from the fastest assassin when you were about to drop dead. There is no way I should have needed to save you," Harrian declared. Although it came out in a tumble and a rush, his expression and tone were hard and relentless.

Jaheira looked away, staring out the window at the bright Amnian sunlight. The climate was definitely pleasant this far south. "If you were astute enough to notice all that, then I am sure you do not need to ask the question," she declared, folding her arms across her chest.

He leant forward to face her, frowning a little. "You can't change the past, Jaheira," he said, a little more harshly than he intended. "Nor can you make everything that's happened suddenly alright. You can't bring Khalid back."

"I was not seeking to bring him back, to make things all alright once more! I know that is not possible," Jaheira snapped back, rolling her eyes and glaring to hide just how deeply Harrian's words had hit her.

"No, you were just seeking to go _to _him," Corias retorted, standing up. "You were perfectly happy to perish on the off-chance that laying down and allowing yourself to die will allow you to go and meet Khalid."

"That is an unjust accusation!" Jaheira retorted harshly, also getting to her feet. "And a baseless assumption! Am I not allowed a single moment of lack of concentration when I have been beaten and poisoned, not to mention struck by lightning?"

"You are, but my accusation is still correct," Harrian answered, calming down and simply fixing her with a firm, confident look.

She looked away, visibly angry. "I had not expected you to be as harsh as this," she muttered, then threw him a quick glare. "I had thought you might have some modicum of comprehension. There is no shame in honest sorrow…"

"…'Only in succumbing to depression over what cannot be changed', I know," Harrian finished, rolling his eyes. "Don't try to quote Alaundo at me – I grew up in Candlekeep, for Ao's sake, I had to study his writings until they were coming out of my bloody ears."

They stared at each other for a long time, until Jaheira bowed her head. "Why not? Why shouldn't I?" she asked, her voice low. "What do I have to keep on living for? Vengeance? What kind of a life is that?" She looked up at him. "I no longer have the Harpers, I no longer have Khalid…"

Harrian stepped up to her and, without thinking, pulled her into his arms, holding her close to him. "You have… us. We all need you." He took a deep, faltering breath. "I made a promise to Khalid that I would keep you safe. He'd want you to go on living, to _find _something to live for if you had nothing." He pulled back a little and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "You know… we haven't really spoken since your encounter with… well…"

His voice trailed off, but comprehension filled her eyes, along with frustration as she stepped away from him. "Harrian? I don't know what to… I am _not _used to this! I am the one in control! I am… I…"

Corias frowned slightly, looking at her. "Jaheira, why did you leave the Harpers? I mean, I know 'why', but why for me?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips and giving her as searching a gaze as he could manage.

"Selfish, selfish, selfish!" Jaheira snapped, the frustration rising up in her again. "People have died because of… what I want, what I see in… you." She coughed, then cleared her throat before continuing. "The Harpers have rightfully turned their backs! Rightfully! I…"

Harrian sighed, shaking his head as he stepped back up to her. "There is no shame in this. You did what you thought was right," he assured her, and managed to project absolute certainty quite well.

"Did I?" Jaheira demanded challengingly. "What if I am wrong? What if my own stupid thoughts have coloured what I see? What if you…" Her voice trailed off as she saw his eyes widen with a mixture of concern, defensiveness and indignation, and she shook her head, looking away. 

"What if it all goes wrong? What happens to what is lost?" she murmured, quiet and calm once again, staring out of the window, resolutely failing to meet his gaze. "I can't risk any more… so much is gone."

He wandered over to the window, thinking hard, trying to come up with anything that could stop her morbid line of thought. Then he finally took a look at the view, just as the town clock struck midday, and his eyes bulged.

Jaheira frowned. "What?" she asked, seeing his expression, and stepped up beside him, glancing down at the town to try and work out just what the source of his shock and discomfort was.

Then she saw it, and, much to Harrian's delight, started to laugh.


	64. Immortalised

**Chapter 64: Immortalised**

"Oh no," Harrian murmured, looking as if he was about to faint instantly. "Oh no, no, no, no, _no_." He let out a quiet whimper. "Somebody tell me this is a bad dream. Just a figment of my imagination. _Please_."

Imoen snickered evilly. "Oh, it's real, alright," she assured him confidently. "Though I don't know what you're complaining about. I think you look rather fetching in marble. At least the statue can't talk."

The party of eight stood in front of the main fountain of Trademeet, most of them gaping disbelievingly at the larger-than-life statues that adorned the rim. Eight of them, all in dramatic poses and looking very much the part of 'Heroes of Trademeet', as the plaque declared them. It was a worrying contrast to the eight weary, worn and befuddled adventurers whom the statues had been based on.

"Verily, it is quite a fine representation," Anomen declared, grinning broadly as he examined his own statue. "I think we should be more flattered than anything else! No matter what else we do in the future, we have been immortalised here."

Despite his own reservations, Harrian grinned broadly at the squire's glee. "Liking the idea of being called 'Hero of Trademeet', Anomen?" he asked lightly, raising an eyebrow. "The novelty wears off eventually, I assure you."

"Indeed, o hero of Nashkel, Gullykin, Baldur's Gate and, now, Trademeet," Imoen declared solemnly, giving Harrian a mock-bow. She turned to Anomen, who had frozen at her statement. "We got… a little busy up north. Fortunately, Trademeet isn't going to throw a banquet in our honour where they'll try to marry off their prettiest girls to as many of the heroes as possible, like Nashkel did." She winked at Corias. "And if they do, I hope you've become more eloquent in turning them down."

Harrian blushed bright pink. "What can I say? I was a lout high on fame and the glory of adventuring. I didn't want to settle down with some trollop and grow bloody potatoes." He squirmed under the appraising eyes of Imoen and Jaheira. "I've learnt the value of diplomacy, too," he mumbled unhappily.

Yoshimo turned to Anomen, frowning slightly. "Do you have any idea just what they're talking of?" the bounty hunter asked, shaking his head with confusion and a slight amount of amusement.

"No," Delryn responded in the same tone of voice. "But it does seem that, if we want to remain unmarried and not offend the people we've just saved, we should flee this town before Trademeet decides to honour us any more."

"I do not see the problem, my raven," Haer'Dalis interjected. "We are heroes, we should act suitably heroically. As we have been immortalised, I believe we should stay a short while and bask in our fame."

"Believe me, bard, I've basked plenty in that fame, and it never ends well. Get yourself acknowledged as the hero of a town, not only will you have every available young woman of a suitable age throwing themselves at you – which does have a certain appeal, I _am _aware – you will also be set upon by every person in this town who has even the slightest problem. The hero of a town will _regularly _be asked to rescue cats stuck in trees."

Anomen's expression had drooped considerably. "But won't we get immortalised in legend?" he asked, worried, in the tone of a young child who had just been told that Christmas had been cancelled.

Harrian chuckled. "Oh, yes. But you're not going to like it. In a hundred years, I'll be ten foot tall, breathing fire and have probably been raised off in the woods somewhere… be the son of a _nice _god too, I'd imagine. I'd have slaughtered thousands of evil destroyers of the land to save Trademeet, and would be celebrated for hundreds of years."

Delryn grinned. "But that's all pretty good, is it not?" he asked, his expression lighting up again.

It pained Corias to have to put a damper on his mood. Well, that was a lie; it was quite amusing to see the squire get his ideals kicked, in a perverse sort of way. "If the statues don't stay up, the legends will almost certainly have me acting alone. Oh, and there'll be a torrid romance between myself and a young yet spirited girl of the village, who I'll have had to rescue at some point during my adventures."

Anomen considered this for a long moment, then shook his head, looking disgusted. "Let us return to Athkatla," he muttered sulkily. "A city generally forgets its heroes considerably less easily."

"We're not heroes of Athkatla, Ano," Imoen pointed out, grinning at his expression when she called him 'Ano'.

"Then let's _make _ourselves heroes!" Delryn suggested firmly. "Anything is better than being stuck in a provincial little hole like this which will claim I don't exist in a hundred years or so." He glared at Harrian. "If we have to go around rescuing villages, I say we develop a rotational system of who's leader, so we all get a chance to be immortalised." He sighed, shaking his head, and muttered: "I knew it was a bad idea to just be a sidekick."

Harrian nodded, smiling at the cleric. "Alright… let's blow this joint." Everyone stared at him for a long moment, confusion registered on their faces. He squirmed briefly, then shrugged. "Or we could just leave?"

But before they could start for the pub to collect their affairs and for Keldorn to collect his horse, a tall woman in fine robes, clearly those of a noble, stepped outside the door of her house and swept towards them self-importantly, flanked by a pair of fully-armed guards.

"You there! Hero of Trademeet! Hold!" she called out in a commanding voice that made Harrian freeze and grimace, before pasting a bright smile on his face and turning around to face her. "I would have words with you!"

Corias's false grin faded a little, but he managed to keep it on his face as strongly as possible. "Ah, you would be the Lady Lurraxol, correct? We met at Lord Coprith's house. You wish to talk to me?"

"I do indeed," Lady Lilith Lurraxol stated smugly, approaching them. "I have a matter of the utmost importance which I need handled by someone of your infinite skills and wisdom… and I suppose your companions could help as well."

Harrian ignored Anomen's outraged snort, and forced his smile to broaden. It was starting to strain his cheek muscles. "We really were planning to return to Athkatla, my lady, but I will hear what you want me to do…"

Lurraxol smiled brightly. "Ah, I can make your staying here a few more days perfectly worthwhile. And it is a simple matter." She folded her arms across her chest. "Recently, the matter of who is the founding house of Trademeet has oddly become something worth debating – as if there was any doubt that it was not a Lurraxol who founded this town. Lord Skarmaen Alibakkar has started to challenge my claim."

Harrian looked blankly at her, not really caring of her plight. "What can I do? Kill this man?" he asked emotionlessly, although he was entertaining thoughts of doing this Alibakkar a favour and getting rid of Lurraxol there and then.

The lady frowned distastefully. "Uh, no, nothing as horrific as that. Just legend says there is an artefact in the graveyard of Trademeet, the Mantle of Waukeen. If you were to retrieve that for me, then it would prove the claim of my family."

Harrian opened his mouth to tell her to go to the hells as a second imperious voice could be heard from over his shoulder, and he turned to see a tall, grey-haired man striding towards them, also flanked by two guards.

"Lurraxol, you bitch!" Skarmaen Alibakkar snapped, approaching the group. "You would seek to manipulate the hero of Trademeet into supporting your _lie _of a claim? That is scandalous!" He bowed briefly to Harrian. "My apologies, Mr Corias, that you have been mistreated by this 'lady'. I am sure you can –"

"Let me guess," Harrian murmured, frowning. "You'd like me to return this Mantle of Waukeen for you so that _your _claim can be proven?" Alibakkar froze, and he knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

Corias rolled his eyes, before shaking his head. "No. No way. Not a chance in the hells. All nine of them." He fixed Lurraxol and Alibakkar with cold glares. "I came here to save lives, and then ensured that the people of Trademeet would have a livelihood with which to support themselves. I did not come here to help nobs like you decide which of you can steal an artefact first, thus proving _not _which is the founding family, merely which is the sneakiest bastard."

He straightened up haughtily. "As far as I'm concerned, you can all go and kill yourselves. I no longer give a damn about this town, unless they happen to be trouble, and thus, as hero, it is my duty to come and help them. But in the meantime, I intend to return to Athkatla and commence the hunt for a very, very dangerous mage. Good day to you."

With that, he turned and strode off haughtily, six of his seven companions following him in a second. Anomen lingered behind a moment, looking between the two aristocrats. "If I helped you, would you immortalise me in the history books?" he asked lightly, hopefully.

"Anomen! Get thy arse over here!" the voice of Harrian echoed across the square, and the cleric threw the nobles an apologetic shrug before hurrying after the rest of his party. They were going to go home


	65. Alerted

**Chapter 65: A Warning**

The group strode down the Great Eastern Road – but travelling in a western direction – brightly, cheerfully. Although other troubles had reared their heads since their departure from Athkatla, the trip had had the intended results, for the group was far more relaxed, far less uptight. Harrian only hoped their return to the city would not herald a return of the old feelings.

He was particularly worried about Jaheira. Though she had snapped out of the morbid mood after their talk that morning, she was still less than happy, as could be expected, for she had just turned her back on the group which had, truly, been all she'd had left after Khalid's death. Harrian held no illusions about his being enough for her whole future… not with things how they were. He knew, understood, the depths of his feelings for her – he thought – but he would keep them secret for as long as was reasonable, in the current time.

They had made good progress that day, and, if they kept up with the time, they should be at Athkatla late the following night, ready to fall into their beds at the Five Flagons then arise, fully ready for a hunt for Irenicus the day after. Harrian had decided to finally move forwards in his search for the mage, although he was loath to aggravate the Cowled Wizards more. He was unaware that this would be unnecessary.

Imoen was at the back of the party, sandwiched between Haer'Dalis and Anomen, who had frequently been vying for her attention in a way Harrian intensely disliked. The sight of the bard and cleric seemingly squabbling without even realising it was amusing, and it was heartening to see how Imoen managed to ignore their bickering and yet let them feel she was paying attention to them both equally.

Keldorn, Yoshimo and Minsc were at the middle, the latter two flanking the former, who sat astride his horse, easily the most comfortable in the party for the duration of the journey, though the inquisitor had claimed Edumar had got far too fat during their stay at Trademeet without exercise. Harrian couldn't see how, for it had only been a few days.

He and Jaheira were at the front, meandering rather than marching, an easy silence between them as they simply walked onwards, enjoying each others company, content without needing to speak but mostly lost in their own thoughts. Which was why they failed to notice the man striding towards the road from an adjoining path, so small it presumably only led to a few farms.

Dermin Courtierdale was nothing if not a fascinating man. He had served the Harpers for many years diligently, introducing young people like Jaheira to their cause, and was one of the most respected 'instructors' in the organisation. He was often a mentor to new members, and was thus seen as something of a kindly, if rather quiet, old teacher.

The fact that he was one of the most skilled warriors in the Harpers and had once been their most vital assassin before age stopped him from being quite physically capable enough to perform as well as he used to was often overlooked and forgotten, even by those he had taught years ago.

Thus he was just as efficient at ever at creeping up on people when they least expected it, and when a party was lost in thoughts, discussion or bickering as the Bhaalspawn's was, it was a simple matter to approach them unheralded.

"Jaheira! I would have words with you!"

Jaheira's head snapped up, jerking her out of whatever pleasant memories had brought a slight, teasing smile to her face, and the emotionless mask slipped back on instantaneously and effortlessly.

It did not take long for realisation and shock to beat the mask when she saw who had called her. "Dermin? What are you doing back here?" she mumbled numbly as the Harper strode towards her, cat-like. "I am glad to see you," the druid managed at last, blinking fast, confused. "I had thought our friendship…"

"I am not here for a social call." Courtierdale's voice was cold, hard, merciless, and devoid of any friendly tone. "This is the last time we will see each other peacefully. I have come to speak a warning."

A lack of comprehension replaced the realisation and shock as Jaheira struggled to recover the mask, failing amazingly. "What are you talking about?" she asked quietly, though there was a note of defeat in there, as if she already knew what was coming.

Dermin folded his arms across his chest. "It has been decided. You are a killer of Harpers and a traitor. You have collaborated with our known enemies. Your execution has been ordered." There seemed to be a trace of regret in there, but it seemed to Harrian as if it was more because he thought there should be rather than triggered by true remorse.

Despite the fact that she clearly knew that Courtierdale was _not _to be the bearer of good news, Jaheira still seemed stunned to her very core. "What? Such a thing has never been done!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.

The Harper shrugged, his expression devoid of any pity. "This is a very special case. You have faced little opposition from the Harpers so far. From here on the attacks will increase in severity, unless you come with me now." His tone didn't suggest that coming with him was the better option.

"What do you mean?"

"This is an internal matter of justice, and does not involve this Harrian. You can spare him the attacks if you submit."

Harrian stepped in, frowning, certain she would not have to deal with this on his own. His right hand went down to the Daystar subtly, though it was a movement not lost on Dermin. He doubted it had the intimidating effect he had hoped for, however. "What sort of deal is this?"

Courtierdale's head snapped towards him, and he threw the Bhaalspawn a cold, evil look, as if everything that had come to pass was his fault – for, truly, he doubtless believed it was. "The only sort she will get," he spat harshly, then looked back at the druid, his tone turning softer. "Think on it, Jaheira. You will receive the hearing you wish."

She seemed considerate, quiet, lost in thought, and there was a long pause before she answered. "Very well, Dermin. I will think on this," she decided at last, frowning with contemplation.

Courtierdale nodded sternly. "You do that, Jaheira. There will be no other warnings," he muttered ominously. He then threw the party a derisive glare before turning and striding off down the Great Eastern Road at a pace which was surely far too fast to maintain for very long… but, then, what was a Harper doing alone in the middle of the wilderness if he couldn't manage some fast walking?

Harrian turned to face Jaheira, aware but not caring that everyone was staring at them. "Jaheira… you can't possibly be meaning to turn yourself in to the Harpers," he muttered, frowning. "They'll give you a false trial and execute you!"

She threw him a venomous look. "You know nothing of the Harpers," Jaheira snapped defensively. "They are not like that… I have been promised a hearing, and I have faith that Dermin will see I get one."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust this Dermin! For all we know, he could have been a lackey of Galvarey's!" Harrian retorted, shaking his head. "Besides, you know full well they'd execute you without a decent trial if they could! You spat on Harper justice just a few days ago!"

She fell silent, and he knew his words had struck home. How much she would listen to them, however, was anyone's guess.

When she did speak, her voice was quiet, calm, calculated, and very much saying that this was the end of the discussion. "This is Harper business, Harrian. It no longer concerns you. It concerns me, thus it is my decision to make. Do not attempt to control any choice I finally decide upon."

It was as if an iron gate had been slammed shut in front of him, stopping him from reaching her. It was a sensation he had never had before, not since he'd been able to get those gates open, and it was particularly disconcerting. Harrian took a step back, knowing when to quit, and turned to the others. "We camp here tonight. And we keep watch."


	66. Riddled Warnings

**Chapter 66: Riddled Lectures**

Minsc caught a pair of wild boars that night, after some coaxing from Keldorn, and as it was Imoen's turn to offer the party a culinary feast, they ate well. With Haer'Dalis as her unofficial assistant whilst Anomen and Yoshimo were stuck on firewood duty, a meal set to raise all spirits was prepared.

It did not quite go as planned. Anomen brooded considerably about searching for firewood, which was not his favourite task at the best of times, Minsc was quite tearful about spitting the two boars, and Harrian seemed in simultaneous fits over both Jaheira and the antics of tiefling and mage.

By the time they all perched on logs around the fireplace, the sun's rays already long departed from Amn for the day, half of the party was about to fall apart. Anomen was in an intensely foul mood, and kept on glowering at Haer'Dalis, who had given him a brief taunt earlier in the evening. Whilst it did not seem quite justifying the cleric's full fury, few worried too much, for they all knew how erratic Delryn's mood swings could be; Harrian was constantly attempting to try and hide his concern about Jaheira, which rarely worked, whilst giving Imoen brief, nagging glanced which nobody could successfully interpret; Jaheira was understandably quiet and withdrawn; Minsc sat quietly on his own, gazing sadly at his plate; and even the bright, cheerful Yoshimo seemed oddly uncomfortable.

As such, dinner was a relatively sombre affair, even the jokes of Haer'Dalis failing to penetrate the gloom that had settled upon the group. Once the meal was finished, both Yoshimo and Jaheira excused themselves and headed for their tents. Keldorn and Minsc lingered for a moment also, but eventually the brooding moods of Harrian and Anomen sent them fleeing to the tents.

The four remaining party members rapidly set about clearing up the remaining dishes that littered the area around the campfire. Imoen and Haer'Dalis had been duelling riddles most of the evening, and this had had the others almost in fits of frustration.

The tiefling had puzzled over Imoen's latest for a lengthy amount of time, and they had fallen silent whilst he continued to contemplate. The bard was murmuring under his breath, then paused and straightened up as Anomen threw another log onto the fire.

"Another run-through of the question, my wildflower, so that I may contemplate the wordings a little more?" he asked at last, straightening up, a delighted expression on his face at this challenge.

Imoen chuckled. "Hey, come on, Haer'Dalis. That's your third and last repeat, and if you don't get it… you take my watch tonight." She ignored Harrian's peeved expression at this – he hated it when people messed around with his delegation of responsibility. The tiefling nodded his acceptance, and the mage took a deep breath. "Alright… 'I can have no colour, though there may be darkness within. I have no weight and hold nothing, and if placed in a container it becomes all the lighter. What am I?'"

Haer'Dalis paused, frowning intently. "Verily, my wildflower, that is a most excellent riddle. I shall have to consider this one most thoroughly," he mused, picking up another pan and tossing it to Anomen, who was piling up the dishes.

The cleric caught the pan as it clattered against his chest. He winced slightly, still glowering at the tiefling, before letting out a derisive snort. "Verily, your ignorance never ceases to amaze me, bard. 'Tis not the hardest riddle man – or woman," he conceded, nodding to Imoen, "has ever conjured. No offence, my lady." Another nod to Imoen.

The tiefling blade straightened up, crossing his arms and looking far more challenging than Harrian, who was finishing off his roast boar, had ever seen him. "So, squire, you have the answer to this riddle she has presented?"

Anomen smiled a mildly feral smile. "I do indeed. The answer is 'a hole'," he declared smugly. Realisation sank into the tiefling, but the cleric would not let him get away that easily. "You see, a hole has no colour. But it can be dark," he explained patronisingly. "Obviously, a hole has now weight and can contain nothing, but place a hole in a container, and whatever is in it will fall out… thus it will be lighter." The corners of his mouth twitched smugly as he finished the condescending explanation.

Irritation struck Haer'Dalis's face, but an impressed expression followed as he refused to give the cleric the satisfaction of knowing how much he had irked him. He swiftly directed the look at Imoen. "Most ingenious, my wildflower! You are evidently far more skilled than I, but as our priest ruined the fun for us, mayhaps I should simply take your place and go with him to wash the dishes?"

Nobody noted the dismayed look on Anomen's face at that suggestion, and Imoen smiled brightly. "I think that might be okay," the pink-haired mage declared brightly. "After all, we can't have our favourite bard missing out on his sleep, can we?"

Everybody missed Harrian's subtle muttering of "Oh, _gag_."

Haer'Dalis laughed. "Ah, Imoen, my wildflower," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Have I ever told you that you've a most natural grace and innocent beauty about you? 'Tis something any man would find most charming." Suddenly, his eyes had darkened, his voice lightened, and he sprang across the campfire to hold her gently by the wrist.

Imoen lightly extracted herself from his grasp, smiling broadly. "Yeah, okay, whatever. I don't know about my grace, but I'm not all that innocent, Haer'Dalis. I can smell a cheesy come-on from a mile away," she warned him, waggling a finger of the free hand under his nose.

The tiefling drew back, suddenly looking serious. "T'was not meant as such. I've no intention of offending you," he declared hurriedly, raising his hands in deference, and Harrian frowned as he suddenly realised he'd never seen the bard utterly sincere before… so this could well be it.

Imoen raised an eyebrow at him before returning to stacking plates. "Uh-huh…"

He pulled the plates away from her, and propped a finger under her chin, lifting her head to face him. "'Tis only that I see you in an unguarded moment, at times… and I see the ache in your heart reflected in your eyes. It saddens this sparrow to know there is no-one to hold you close, Imoen." His voice was quiet, sincere, and even mildly pleading.

"I…" Her light expression faded as her eyes widened. Behind her, Harrian suppressed a grimace by gnawing on the leg bone of the boar, and Anomen stacked plates, resolutely not looking at them.

Haer'Dalis stepped back, withdrawing ever-so rapidly. "But no doubt I over-step my bounds by saying so," he amended swiftly. "It has only ever been my hope that you might one day give me the chance to be the one that comforts you. It would be an honour, my wildflower."

There was a long silence as they stared at each other. Then a subtle, almost invisible flicker passed between them, and Imoen smiled nervously at last, fanning herself with her hand. "Whew. Gosh, you're good!" she sighed, chuckling.

Haer'Dalis grinned, bowing briefly. "Yes, I know. 'Tis an art form that has served this sparrow well, at times," he told her with a flourish, winking roguishly.

"Write a book. I'll buy it," Imoen told him firmly, nodding fervently.

Anomen coughed surreptitiously, picking up his own stack of pots, pans, and plates. "Come, tiefling. If we are to get any sleep tonight then we would do well to clear this mess that has been left in our wake… and shift our affairs to the river to be cleaned."

Haer'Dalis glanced at him as if jerked out of a reverie. "Hmm?" he mumbled, raising an eyebrow, then caught Delryn's peeved expression. "Ah, yes, my hound. Coming, coming," he muttered, picking up the third stack and balancing it delicately on top of the one he carried. They uncertainly made their way through the trees towards the river, leaving Harrian and Imoen alone.

The Bhaalspawn thief gave his foster-sister a suspicious look. "Just what in the nine hells do you think you're doing?" he hissed the moment he was sure the others were safely out of hearing range.

Imoen looked briefly at him. "What?" she asked defensively, sitting down on the floor next to him, folding her legs in the easy manner that always reminded him of lessons at Candlekeep in a most painful nostalgic way.

He pushed it aside. "You're flirting with Haer'Dalis. I hope you're aware of that," Harrian continued unnecessarily, waving his hands around in a more than slightly flustered manner and glaring his customary glare – which, whilst having nothing on Jaheira's, was not to be trifled with.

"I am. What's your point?" Imoen was defensive, still, but not aggressive; still talking in the easy and light tone that affected everything she came into contact with. Harrian loved his foster-sister very much, but there were times he wished she could have a shred of malice in her so he didn't feel completely evil when lecturing her.

He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. "You know what he's like. He's a bard, a tiefling, and he's… well… Haer'Dalis. For him, all things are temporary; everything ends. He's curious, but that curiosity doesn't last. He's not a user like half of the bastards you've run into, he's just…"

"Harrian, stop blathering," Imoen interjected, raising a hand slowly. "And let me get a word in edgeways." She stood up. "First off, nothing is happening between myself and Haer'Dalis. We happen to enjoy… matching wits in words and, as you saw, riddles. The 'flirting', as you put it, is merely light and it does not mean I'm going to jump into bed with him." Harrian sagged with relief.

"But," Imoen continued, making the thief look panicked, "that doesn't mean nothing will happen. He's a good-looking man, he's smart, he's cultured, and we get on. Things may well develop, and if they do, I hardly think I need advice from a man who's in love with his mentor's widow." The words were harsh, but her expression sympathetic and he felt no betrayal as she spoke.

He sat in silence for a moment, stunned. "I…" Then his face sagged, and he gave her a long, mournful look. He didn't seem convinced or silenced, but she had a feeling there would be no more lectures for the night. "I'm going to bed."

Imoen smiled her usual smile, before half-rising and giving him a brief kiss on the cheek before straightening up. "I'll be along in a minute. Good night, Harrian," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder briefly as he stood and headed towards his tent.


	67. Certain Attachments

**Chapter 67: Certain Attachments**

Anomen managed to wait until they had reached the river before snapping. This was probably a bad idea, as the build-up of his tension and fury made the explosion all the more great and destructive.

"You… are an even more immoral creature than I had ever dreamed of imagining, tiefling!" the cleric barked at last, throwing the pots and pans into the river with frustration as he glared at the bard. "I cannot believe you would do such a thing!"

There was a long pause as Delryn realised his accusation covered a lot of ground.

Haer'Dalis raised an eyebrow at the squire's outburst eventually. "My hound, I am sure you slight me! There is nothing I have done, no wrong I have committed, no person I have offended with my –"

"Imoen," Anomen replied simply, kneeling in the waters to collect the pans he had thrown, not making eye contact with the blade. "I'm talking about her, you planar fool, or are you so lost in your world of chaos that you can't even see what you are doing?"

The tiefling folded his arms across his chest and gave the cleric a scanning look. "I do not believe that these are matters which could possibly be of interest to you," he mentioned, before moving to clean his pile of pans.

"Does it matter? My point still stands!" Anomen snapped, scrubbing at a pot viciously. "I know what you are like, tiefling. I have studied you for a long time." Haer'Dalis barely gave away even a hint of surprise, but it was not missed by Delryn. "Yes, bard. I am a Watcher. I am a priest of the Vigilant One. There is little I do not notice," he spat venomously.

Haer'Dalis raised an eyebrow. "Why are you concerned?" he asked in his usual light tone. "I would not do anything to hurt Imoen, and, even if I would… I do not see why this would work you up into a frenzy of this magnitude."

"_That_," Anomen responded firmly, "is not of your concern. But I consider the well-being of the party something of my personal concern. I am a priest, after all, and simply because you know so very little of my clerical duties does not mean I do not have them."

"Are you sure?" the tiefling asked lightly, once again without a trace of venom or malice. Anomen realised he'd never heard the bard let out any negative emotions – let out anything other than a light, mildly ironic aura. "It has often struck me that you are far more squire than priest. Your faith seems more vessel of use than heart and soul of your being, which is very different to the faith of other clerics I have encountered amongst you primes."

The corner of Delryn's mouth twitched up in something of a snarl, but the tempestuous priest smothered it quickly and replaced it with a derisive glare. "My faith is not the issue here," he pressed. "And I would thank you not to question it again; not unless you are content with a dented _skull_."

Haer'Dalis straightened up, gathering the pots he had already finished cleaning. "I shall not. Then it seems as if we are done here… I bid you goodnight, my hound," he declared with an infuriating smile as he disappeared into the trees towards the camp.

Anomen swore so loudly and coarsely that he was sure High Watcher Oisig would have condemned him to the hells on the spot had he heard. It was amazing nobody back at the camp seemed to have heard him as he threw a pan into a tree.

Then he went over, collected it, and set about calmly cleaning the pots and pans. His fury often needed release to stop it from overwhelming him and letting itself out in some completely destructive way which could ruin him and those he cared about.

It was his turn on first watch, so he was quite surprised to see the campsite was not abandoned as he headed through the trees towards the flicker of light the fire provided. A small, lithe figure stood, silhouetted against the flames and for a horrific moment he feared it was Haer'Dalis, remaining for more jibes.

As he approached, however, he realised that it was in fact Imoen standing there, seemingly deep in thought. His heart leapt into his throat for reasons he wasn't quite sure about, but he managed to ignore her and pile his load neatly by one of the packs, trying not to disturb her.

He straightened up, looking at her. She was gazing into the fire, her usually bright face creased in a thoughtful frown. Anomen knew he should probably move on, finish clearing up before assuming his post, but he couldn't tear his gaze away as he stared into her eyes. They seemed of a darker shade of blue than they usually were, full of a depth he hadn't seen in anyone… except, oddly, that her expression reminded him vastly of Harrian for only a split second.

As he went to move away, his boot strap caught on the pile of pans he had just unloaded, and they tumbled over with a phenomenally noisy crash. In reality, it was probably little more than a rattle, but it managed to jerk her out of her reverie.

Imoen shifted suddenly, turning to look at him, and the thoughtful expression was gone. Back in its place was her usual bright look, the eyes twinkling, and as she saw it was him, she smiled her sparkling smile. Oddly, Anomen imagined it was slightly more lively than usual, and he felt his own mildly stupid grin cross his face.

"Heya," she greeted him, sitting down on the log nearest to her. "That clean-up was pretty quick. Are you sure you did it right?"

He felt a sudden, irrational stab of irritation at her question, even though it was a completely flippant joke. Shame rapidly took over anger; shame that anger had been so quick to surface, shame that it had directed itself at her… shame that he had not bottled it down absolutely instantaneously.

Anomen nodded slowly, the smile fading, yet still present. "Yes, I'm sure," he said at last, easing himself across towards the log next to hers. There was a brief silence between them as they both stared into the flames. "You should probably get some sleep, my lady. The travelling will be long tomorrow – I shall make sure to awake you when it is your watch."

She shook her head, pink locks flashing in the firelight. "I'm not tired," she confessed, scrubbing her face. "If you want to switch, I'm game, and you can get a bit more sleep right now," she suggested.

Delryn smiled wanly, also shaking his head. "I believe our esteemed leader would be a little distraught at such an action," he mused, reaching over to where his armour lay, shining after he'd retrieved his polish from Jaheira, and collected his cloak. "Are you cold, my lady?"

_Well, he's still keeping up with the 'my lady' stuff. I can live with that. _Still, she shook her head. "If I'm silly enough to sit out here in the middle of the night and _not _go to my tent when I get cold, I shouldn't stop you from being comfortable, should I?" Imoen chuckled.

The squire stood, then walked towards her and slid the thick fabric over her shoulders. "I won't end up as much of a knight if I let a beautiful maiden get cold, will I?" Anomen deliberated, then coughed lightly, affecting a far lighter air. "'Tis not the chivalrous thing to do," he continued, making himself chuckle as he returned to his seat.

Imoen opened her mouth to protest, but at his look merely drew the cloak closer around herself gratefully. "Thanks," she said instead, grinning. "I'm sure you'll make a great knight, Anomen. Though I'm not sure you'll fit in. Most of the paladins I've met wouldn't be caught dead travelling with a Bhaalspawn."

Delryn considered her words a moment before responding. "It seems as if you have been unlucky enough to encounter the more… puritan and fanatical members of the Order. Not all knights are like that. See Sir Keldorn – he is a veteran, a hero of the Radiant Heart and yet he is actively supporting Harrian," Anomen pointed out, shrugging.

Imoen frowned mildly. "I hope you're right." For a second, she seemed oddly concerned, though Anomen couldn't quite place her melancholy. Then, in a second, she smiled brightly and leant forwards towards him. "So… I didn't know you where a master of riddles, my squire," she informed him lightly.

Delryn grinned and chuckled. "Aye, my lady," he responded in the same light tone. "Being quick of mind, wit, and tongue serve you well when you are the odd one out in a group, as a cleric-squire is when surrounded by paladins. But I've always been good at riddles, if a little too impatient to deal with them…"

The mage's smile softened, becoming a far less enthusiastic and overwhelmingly cheerful sight, instead seeming more personal, secret and intimate. This was not a smile Anomen had seen before, and even her usual, beaming visage seemed to pale in comparison. "Good. Haer'Dalis wasn't quite up to scratch – he's more a ballad man. Try this on for size: 'I am free for the taking through all of your life, though given but once at birth. I am less than nothing in weight, but will fell the strongest of you if held'…"

In the end, they both stayed up for two watches, neither of them able to succumb to the deep oblivion of sleep until the early hours of the morning. They sat, swapping riddles, anecdotes, stories, and the morning after were quite unaware of what they had shared.

But in the first few hours of the night, oblivious to all around them as they taxed mind and heart in their discussions, they both failed to notice a small figure creep discreetly away from the camp, silent, secretive… the figure of someone who would never be noticed if they did not want to be.


	68. Missing

**Chapter 68: Missing**

Harrian, meanwhile, was back in Trademeet. He had marched up to the gates, ignored by all of the guards, and for unknown reasons approached the fountain which bore the eight statues of himself and his party members.

On a whim, he stepped up onto the pedestal which bore his likeness, and merged into the sculpture of himself. Then he couldn't move anything but his head, and as he looked down at his body, he was a solid in stone as the statue he had merged with.

An woman dressed in rags approached the fountain, almost bent double with the weight of the sack on her back. She was unidentifiable because of the heavy wraps of clothing she was swathed in. "Hail the hero of Trademeet!"

_This is alright. I can live with this,_ Harrian mused. _Pity I can't move, but hells, I'll cope._

At the old woman's shout, many doors around the square opened, and other figures moved out – figures without faces or any discerning humanoid features, yet he somehow knew they were civilians of Trademeet. As they approached, they took up the old woman's shout, and the cries of "Hail!" rose to the rooftops.

Then the sound of hoof beats could be heard, and Harrian twisted his stone head to see Keldorn's horse, Edumar, cantering up towards them, the noise of metal shoes crashing down upon cobblestones rising above the shouts. Oddly enough, the grey horse didn't slip or stumble, and seemed even more ethereal than ever, shining with an odd yet not angelic light.

The rider was not Keldorn – it was Haer'Dalis, with Imoen perched behind him. They seemed more in the pose of knight and damsel in distress than the usual stances of Harrian's friends, and bore cheerful, but uncharacteristic grins.

"Greetings, my raven!" Haer'Dalis called out. "I see that these people are thanking you, as ever. This seems to be the common outcome of all situations – you get to play hero. Isn't that lovely?"

"I'm sure you enjoy it, brother," Imoen interjected. Her voice was a little more prone to mindless giggles than usual, and was incredibly irritating as her chuckles continued, also rising above the chanting of the people.

"Oh, he does, my wildflower," Haer'Dalis assured her, nodding the proud nod of a knight in shining armour rather than that of the troubadour Corias knew. "The raven enjoys the attention it gets… whether it is for acts of heroism, which are most rare for a raven, or for the death that a raven usually brings."

Imoen's eyes shone with an odd innocence. "Are you going to bring us death, raven?" she asked lightly.

Haer'Dalis laughed. "Ah, do not worry, my wildflower. The raven will meet its destiny soon. The raven cannot deny his blood forever, and once the raven accepts his blood, the blood of others shall flow… flow like a river."

Imoen giggled at the bard's morbid statement, then nibbled on the tip of his ear. "My bard, you truly do weave eloquent." She looked sideways at Harrian, who still couldn't move. "The raven shall bring death and blood. Soon. Once he realises that his heritage cannot be ignored."

Haer'Dalis twisted in the saddle and kissed Imoen full on the lips. In that moment, his fiendish heritage seemed far more obvious, as his pointy-yet-not-elvish ears, bright blue hair and odd features shone with the same light Edumar shone with.

The horse whinnied, and they pulled back, smiling at Harrian. "Enjoy your stay there, raven. It'll last for a bit," Haer'Dalis assured the immobile statue. Imoen giggled inanely, as the bard straightened in the saddle and squeezed Edumar's flanks with his legs. The horse leapt forward into a perfect canter, oddly hurtling off through the crowd.

The crowd was still chanting, the woman carrying the burden still bent double. But as Harrian got a better look at her, another pair of voices could be heard above the shouts, and he looked over to see Anomen and Yoshimo approaching, deep in talk.

"Do not mistake my mace for a prune, thief," Anomen declared, deadpan, looking evilly at the bounty hunter. "It is not a vegetable; it is a piece of weaponry for bashing ideas into the heads of others, whether they like it or not."

"I never said your mace was a prune. I simply said it _looked like one," Yoshimo corrected him, in the same perfectly serious voice. "Besides, a prune is a fruit, not a vegetable. Use your mind, Anomen."_

Delryn snorted his usual snort. "That is irrelevant. You mock my ideals, you insult me to the very core by calling my mace a prune. Do not do so again." By now, they had reached Harrian, and looked up at the statue. "Whatcha doin'?" Anomen asked lightly.

Harrian tried to raise an eyebrow and respond, but found that he couldn't open his mouth. He merely imagined he was glaring at the cleric.

"Do not be impertinent," Yoshimo rebuked Delryn. "He is waiting. All good hunters wait; wait for the right opportunity to arise before they attack the prey. Maybe we would do well to move off, until he decides to hunt _us, no?"_

Anomen frowned. "He is not hunter. He's clawless. It's not waiting he's doing, it's denying. He is not going to pounce on anyone as he stays so still." The cleric turned. "These people do not cheer a Bhaalspawn if they think he's going to become a predator."

Yoshimo raised a hand. "Have patience, have patience," the bounty hunter said reproachfully. "Give the blood a chance. A raven cannot deny its nature. He'll pounce, in good time. Once the stone has fallen."

Delryn grinned. "Maybe we should break it for him," the squire suggested, and conjured up his mace from thin air. Corias tried to frown as he saw the head of the weapon was a lump of metal in the shape of a prune.

He didn't have much time to consider this as Anomen swung the mace, connecting it with the statue. Intense pain ran through Harrian as he felt his stone surroundings crack, and shatter as Delryn continued to strike.

No longer held in place by the stone, he fell to the floor, stumbling to his knees for a second until he struggled upright to look at Anomen and Yoshimo, who both smiled vacantly at him.

"Hey, look at that," the bounty hunter mused, looking Harrian up and down thoughtfully. "Even free, he doesn't devour us. I wonder why that is?" The Kara-Turan frowned, pulling out his katana.

Anomen nodded, also frowning. "What if we make him angry? Do you think he'll rip our throats out, or just take it?" The cleric hefted his mace and swung it dangerously, threatening rather than attacking Harrian.

"Ooh, I like that," Yoshimo replied, raising his katana, and as one they stepped towards Harrian, who still couldn't move, and prepared to bring their weapons down. The crowds of people were gone. There was nobody.

Except for the woman covered in rags who had started the crowd chanting in the first place. She stepped forward, out of the shadows, and Harrian suddenly saw it was Jaheira. Anomen and Yoshimo paused.

"Hold!" the druid called out, raising a hand. "You will not take him. You will not bring up the blood. The raven will fly. The blood will not flow. There is nothing you can do to stop it. And if you try, I will stop you."

Anomen's face filled with fury. "Get back, Harpy!" he snapped, turning to her. "You are no longer here. Your role is over. You have decided to leave the raven, and now he will not fly. The blood will flow if we say it will flow. Your decision has been made; you cannot go back on it now." Then he hit Harrian with the mace.

"_Harrian!"_

The shout came from an unknown source, and seemed devoid of any discerning tone, emotion; was unidentifiable as male or female, human or otherwise, worldly or divine. It was also accompanied by the drenching feeling of a bucket of cold water hurled on you.

Harrian sat bolt upright, feeling water running down the back of his neck, and he shivered before glaring at Imoen, who was holding an empty bucket, crouched next to him in his tent. Her eyes were dark and sunken, and it seemed she had not slept much. Beside her, Anomen was much the same, but he held a roll of parchment.

"Your wake-up techniques have become increasingly unfriendly," Corias sniffed, wiping water off his face and out of his eyes. "What's the panic? We haven't been set about by bandits again, have we?"

Anomen snorted his usual snort. "Jaheira's gone," the cleric said bluntly, shoving the parchment in his hands. "Some mysterious old man gave us this, then vanished. There is most certainly something amiss."

Harrian's eyes widened with a trace of panic, and he hurriedly unrolled the parchment. Then he swore as he saw what was written.

            _Harrian,_

_Goodbye. No sappy farewells or crying over how things must be; I do neither of these things well, nor would I wish to. I have made a decision; one that is not ideal, but it is necessary. I can go nowhere without this shadow, and I wish to leave it behind. I am returning to the Harper Hold that I might face judgement there. I will plead the case as we saw it for whatever they accuse, and if they do not see reason then I will suffer what I must. Galvarey had detractors as well as allies, so I believe I can end this in my favour. If not, at least it will be an end._

_            I do not ask you to follow. I do this for myself, and there will be little or no gain for you. You may still be a target of violence, but perhaps their interest in you will wither beside the capture of a 'traitor.' _

_For better or worse, I am taking control once more. I hope to see you again in better times. _

_With Nature's love and mine,_

_Jaheira_

            The thief froze with an intense fear and panic before he looked up at the pair before him. "When… when was this? When did she leave?" he demanded hurriedly. "What time is it? How long has she been gone?"

            Anomen grabbed him as the swashbuckler attempted to leap to his feet. "It is just after dawn. We believe she has been gone for over six hours. We only received this note a mere moment ago."

            Harrian shrugged off his grip and slid out of the tent, only in his tunic. The first thing he did was step on a twig, and thus the first great noise of the morning was his yelp of pain as he leapt about a foot in the air.

            Haer'Dalis appeared beside him, looking mildly concerned. "Any trouble, my raven?" he asked lightly, raising an eyebrow.

            Corias glared at him, rubbing his foot ruefully. Then he froze at the brief flashback the word 'raven' brought. He shrugged it off. "We're going to Athkatla," he said quietly as the others approached. "Now. We can be there by sunset."


	69. Let it Rain

**Chapter 69: Let it Rain**

Depressingly, it was a dark and stormy night. Rain struck Athkatla in one of the first storms of the season. The unpaved streets of the city turned from dirt to mud; a thick, enveloping mud that consumed shoes and even a few small gnomes. Inns were overrun by anyone trying to seek shelter, and the temples opened their doors to those who could not afford to rent rooms – all but the temple of Talos, for followers of the Stormbringer revelled and cheered in the might and strength of their god.

The city gates were excessively busy as nearby farmers, their lands destroyed by quick floods, tried to come to Athkatla for shelter. Brusque, wet, and irritable guards usually turned them away, for it was past the closing hour and they did not want to attempt to drag the gates open through the mud.

It was at this hour the party of seven returned to the city. Whilst they had made good time in the morning, the atrocious weather that had broken mid-afternoon had slowed them down considerably. Nobody had dared suggest that they pause and find shelter.

All of them were bone weary, soaking wet, and miserable, but Harrian had not allowed them the luxury of a rest. He had been running off pure fury and adrenaline the whole morning, shaking with an inner rage and fear at the thought of what the Harpers might do to Jaheira. He held no illusions that they would hear her out.

The great doors of Athkatla were closed, and thus he marched directly up to them and hammered loudly on the wooden gates with the hilt of the Sword of Balduran. "Let us in, you bastards!" he bellowed over the racket of the rain and thunder.

There was no reply, so Anomen – particularly miserable in his armour – stepped forwards and swung his mace heavily against the wood. "In the name of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, _open this door!"_

Keldorn leant forwards in his saddle. Edumar was cold and wet and miserable, and the aged knight felt so numb he could barely sit up straight. Yet he still managed to speak. "Squire Anomen, we are not acting in the name of the Order. It is not quite right to invoke their name needlessly."

Anomen shrugged, the cold and wet sending him beyond caring about bringing down Keldorn's wrath. "If it gets us through the gates, then I will pay the price," he responded sharply, shaking his head and sending more rainwater flying over Harrian.

A hatch in the door opened, showing them the particularly unhappy face of an Amnish guard. "I don't care if you're bloody Tyr himself; it's after hours. I'm not opening this sodding door for you."

Keldorn dismounted creakily, and passed Edumar's reins to Imoen before stepping forward. "My good man, we have been travelling the whole day. We are tired and wet and have homes to return to. We were delayed by the rain."

The guard rolled his eyes. "Look, mate, no offence, but…"

His voice trailed off as an unidentifiable shout was heard from behind him, and he turned. It was clearly someone with authority who had arrived, for the guard's face became respectful, and it seemed as if he was losing whatever debate or argument was being held – they couldn't hear the distinct words above the rain.

Eventually, the guard turned back to face them, looking sulky. "It's your lucky day, sunshine," he said, pouting. "We got a tin can 'ere who says to let you in." The hatch then swung shut, and there was absolute silence for about a minute.

Harrian turned to look at the others. "If he's just trying to shut us out, I'm really not –"

He was interrupted by a horrific groaning noise, which sounded remarkably like a large wooden gate trying to be opened when it really didn't want to be. Then a loud bang, as the guards finally wrenched the gate from the mud that had settled around its bottom and dragged it across the slimy, wet ground just wide enough to let the group in.

Harrian drew his cloak around himself closely as he waited for the others to enter the city before him. His cloak hung heavily on his shoulders, weighted down by the water, and he kept his gaze on the floor to ensure he didn't slip over as he followed the rest of the party.

Which is why he didn't notice a tall, bulky figure swinging at him, and he fell like a rock to the floor as he was struck on the side of his head with what felt like the hilt of a sword. As stars exploded before his eyes, he barely managed to reason that it was better than being hit with the bladed end.

Anomen leapt at Harrian's attacker, and Keldorn pulled the Hallowed Redeemer out, taking an offensive stance towards a second, shadowed figure as Minsc readied his blade. Behind them, Yoshimo notched an arrow to his bow, Haer'Dalis unsheathed his short swords, and Imoen raised her hands, the beginnings of an incantation on her lips.

"Hold, squire!" Corias's attacker called out, raising a shield to make Delryn's mace bounce harmlessly off it. "I am not presenting a threat to you. I merely wished to ensure the Bhaalspawn was contained."

Although it was dark, Anomen visibly paled. "Prelate Wessalen!" he murmured numbly, audibly quaking. "I… forgive me, I simply thought…" Behind him, the others slowly set down their weapons, Keldorn with a grimace of embarrassment.

"Do not trouble yourself, lad," the second figure intoned, stepping out of the shadows to reveal himself as Sir Ryan Trawl. "It was an easy enough mistake." The paladin leant down and grabbed the dazed Harrian by the shoulders, pulling him upright. "No sudden moves, Bhaalspawn, or I'll split you from head to toe."

Keldorn frowned. "Ryan… what is the meaning of this? Corias here is no more dangerous than you or I, as I have assured you all many times before. You have no need to fear his Bhaal blood."

Prelate Wessalen straightened up haughtily. "On the contrary, Sir Keldorn, we have every reason to fear his blood. I know you are not a student of the writings of Alaundo, but if you were… you would understand the panic that has struck the Order. Why many are bidding us to simply end his threat before he can come to full strength."

Anomen shifted uncomfortably, staring at the floor. "But… that's injustice," he muttered unhappily, clearly feeling a need to speak out but not wishing to anger his superiors. "You cannot condemn a man simply because he _might perform an injustice."_

Trawl nodded sternly. "Aye, lad," he agreed. "We are giving Corias every chance he needs. But he is not the direct reason we are here. Someday, we may have to come and ensure he does not present a threat to civilization, but as he has not, so far, been anything but a servant of righteousness, that day is not today."

Keldorn returned the Hallowed Redeemer to its sheath slung to his back. "Then why are you here, and why did you deem it necessary to knock out Corias?" the paladin asked. Though his tone was respectful, there was an edge in there showing he was quite unamused by the situation.

Wessalen shook his head, sighing. "Sir Keldorn Firecam, the matter of the Bhaalspawn Harrian Corias is no longer your problem." He turned to face the Inquisitor grimly. "Your participation in the quest is ended. This is not up for debate, though I would like to talk to you at length later."

Harrian blinked groggily, his vision still swimming before him as he saw Trawl grasping him by the shoulders. "Eh?" he mumbled, raising a hand to swipe at his eyes. "Huh? Whassat? Hmm?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, letting go of the thief. He would have slid to the floor had not Imoen and Anomen stepped forwards to support him. "Yet the real reason we are here concerns you, Squire Delryn."

The cleric's face turned ashen, and he would have dropped Harrian had Minsc not intervened to help hold the swashbuckler up. Anomen said nothing for a long moment; merely stared at his three superiors, eventually settling on Wessalen. "Prelate… What have I done?"

"You have done nothing yet," the far older man replied quietly, his voice confident and reassuring. "That is why I am here. To save you." Comprehension failed to fill Anomen's face. "From the Bhaalspawn, and how he could corrupt you. Come back to us, Anomen."

Delryn gaped for a moment, opening his mouth mutely. There was a long silence before he found his voice. "Prelate… Harrian is a righteous man – perhaps not the most lawful of individuals, but he fights for right… I can serve goodness at his side, I could –"

"You could be corrupted by him, serve as his right-hand man in bringing Faerûn to its knees under the tide of chaos the Bhaalspawn shall bring with them," Trawl intervened, his face grim. "It is not too late. Return to the Order, Anomen. We do not want to lose you." Ryan stepped solemnly towards his squire. "This is not a request."

Delryn's eyes flared, and Imoen saw for a moment the same rage and anger in his eyes that had been present at Saerk Farrahd's estate. "And what if I am to refuse?" he demanded defiantly, straightening up boldly.

Any trace of kindness or pity fled from Prelate Wessalen's face. "If you refuse; if you agree to carry on with this creature of darkness as he walks the narrow path between light and shadow – a path which shall deviate from righteousness soon, I guarantee you – then you shall not be welcome in the Order."


	70. The Long Goodbye

**Chapter 70: The Long Goodbye**

"Prelate! This is not necessary!" Keldorn gasped, shock clear on his face. "Squire Anomen shall be a fine knight; this we both know, and Harrian Corias is no servant of evil! What you are proposing is madness."

The defiance and anger was dead in Anomen's eyes, and his face seemed drained of all life, his eyes hollow and empty. "I…"

Wessalen ignored Firecam and turned to Delryn. "You do not have time to decide, Anomen. It is now, or the Order shall recognise you as an ally of the Bhaalspawn and thus not one of us. There shall be no violent reciprocations for now… but the moment the path turns to darkness, you shall be an enemy."

"His path will not turn to darkness," Anomen murmured, but there was no emotion and precious little forceful conviction in his voice. He had the look of a desperate man, a man who knows he is right yet is being forced to step away from his choice.

Harrian, by now, had gained some semblance of coherency, and placed a hand on Delryn's shoulder. "Go, Anomen. You know it is the right choice." The cleric turned to look at him with absolute shock. "This party, this quest, was never anything more than a way for you to prove your worth from the Order."

"But... Irenicus… Jaheira… the quest…!" Anomen seemed completely lost, full of shock and disbelief, evidently still reeling from Wessalen's ultimatum.

Harrian shook his head. "We can do these without you. Not easily, but without you." Delryn still seemed unconvinced, and the thief sighed – then regretted it as his temple ached profoundly. "Look, Anomen… the Order is your life. Stay with it, you'll pass your test – and with this ultimatum of theirs, you _will pass your test – and have a home, a quest for the rest of your life." He shrugged. "The Order gives you a future. We can't offer you that."_

Anomen remained silent, staring at the sign of the Crooked Crane Inn far in the distance. His eyes were glazed over, and under his breath he was murmuring something – a prayer, or maybe just trying to convince himself to take one path.

"Your choice, Anomen Delryn?" Trawl's voice shot through the silence.

Delryn gave him a brief, vicious look which he curbed quickly. "I…" His voice trailed off, and he turned to the Prelate. "May I at least say my farewells to the party?" There was a trace of defiance, if defeated defiance, in his tone. Wessalen merely gave him a stern nod.

Anomen turned to his five  companions, anguish on his face. Harrian, first in line, met his gaze evenly, and gave him a level nod. The two men shook hands sternly, both with conflicting emotions on their faces.

Delryn grimaced. "Ensure that your task does not go incomplete. Irenicus cannot continue with his actions. Rescue Jaheira…" The cleric paused, before leaning forward, his expression firm. "And _don't let her go."_

Harrian nodded, a bittersweet smile on his face. "I won't. Good luck, Anomen. May Helm and Tymora guide your footsteps." They nodded to each other firmly again, before briskly sharing one of those manly hugs which require a lot of slapping of the other's back – no mean feat when one is wearing plate mail.

Minsc seemed sorrowful when Delryn approached him. "Boo will miss you," was all the big man could manage to say, raising the tiny hamster to the cleric's eye level. Boo squeaked pitifully.

Anomen frowned sadly, pulling his leather glove off and lightly stroking the damp fur along the hamster's back. "Farewell, Minsc and Boo. I only pray that you bring evil the end it deserves," he murmured solemnly.

Yoshimo was looking at Anomen with a mildly contemplative expression as the cleric looked at him. "Young Anomen, a samurai of the west in the conundrum of duty and honour against loyalty and goodness." The thief shook his head sadly. "I only trust you have made the right decision."

Delryn grimaced. "Do not question me, thief," he mumbled, but there was no trace of venom in his voice and the words seemed more pleading than anything else. "Try not to rob too many purses."

"Try not to smite too much." They shook hands, both of them clearly wanting to say something but macho codes of honour not permitting it.

Anomen stepped away from Yoshimo and looked, quickly, at Imoen. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them managing to come up with anything to say. Eventually, Imoen just stepped forward and hugged him tightly, and although he hardly felt the contact with his armour on, he still felt a jolt run through him.

Then, eventually, he pulled back. "I am sorry, my lady," he said at last, frowning, not quite meeting her gaze. "This is not… not what I would wish. It is my decision, yes, but… you have to understand that the Order…"

Imoen raised a hand to stop his babbling. "Hey, I understand," she replied, a little _too cheerfully. "You gotta do what you gotta do. Go. Run around Amn getting outraged at everything." They shared a smile at the private joke, then Anomen turned away – for if he stared at her a moment longer, he was unsure he could ever avert his gaze._

Haer'Dalis rocked on his heels briefly, giving Delryn a bright, expectant look. There was something of a smile on his face. "Anomen?"

The cleric nodded sternly. "Tiefling." Then he stepped back over towards Prelate Wessalen and Sir Ryan Trawl. "If we are to leave, let it be now. I would get away from this infernal mess," Anomen spat, not looking back at his former comrades.

Keldorn stepped up and patted him on the shoulder. "Have hope, lad. The future is still bright." He threw the party, which now looked rather lost and abandoned, an apologetic look as Imoen passed Edumar's reigns back to the inquisitor.

Wessalen, Anomen and Keldorn slowly started down the road leading to Athkatla's main street, leaving only Sir Ryan lingering behind, looking quite imposing in his heavy armour, his large sword strapped neatly to his back. "You watch thyself, Bhaalspawn," the paladin intoned gravely. "Corruption of my squires is not something I take lightly. Anomen can be saved… but if you wish to remain in one piece, do not concern yourself with the Order."

Harrian glared at him bitterly. "If I wanted your opinion, Trawl, I'd have asked for it. As it stands, I'm now down a friend and ally – I'm not too concerned with the advice of a sword-swinging fanatic such as yourself!"

Ryan shrugged as best as was possible in full plate, his armour making an odd squeaking noise. "The warning stays. Watch thyself," he finished grimly, before turning and striding imposingly down the street.

The five adventurers stared at each other gloomily, the rain still beating down upon them, though they were too wet and miserable to care. There was a long, depressing silence, until Harrian said: "Let's go home. We'll visit the hold tomorrow."

* *

"Well, if it isn't my favourite patrons!" Samuel Thunderburp exclaimed overly cheerfully as the five entered the Five Flagons half an hour later, dripping mud and rainwater. "But, ooh… you're not in a good state. What's happened to the other two?"

Harrian glared at the halfling, in the foulest mood anyone had ever seen him in. "I'll explain later," he snapped, shaking his head as he approached the counter. The patrons of the bar gave the party suspicious and derisive glances. "In the meantime, are our rooms available?"

Thunderburp nodded, frowning a little. "Aye, they are… all ready and waiting for you, yes sir!" Again, the halfling was too happy for the party. "If you want, I can have food sent up to your rooms, free of charge?"

Harrian glanced at the others. "Do what you want," he grunted. "I'm going to bed." He turned and strode towards the stairs, revelling in the comfortable familiarity of the corridors of the Five Flagons.

            His key caught in the lock of his door as he reached it, but after a little fiddling it swung open, revealing his room to be just as he had left it, if a little emptier than before. Harrian smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours, tossing his pack to the floor next to the bed, then leant over the table opposite to light the candle.

            A creak sounded from behind him, and the thief frowned. He raised his head to look at the mirror on the wall next to the table, but the room was clear. The newly lit candle threw erratic shadows across the room as it flickered, especially in the corner, where there was a long, broad darkness which didn't seem to have any source…

            He whipped around, though too late as the vampire sprang forwards to deliver him the second blow to the head that evening, sending him sprawling down into darkness…


	71. Of Blood

**Chapter 71: Of Blood**

            Jon Irenicus folded his arms across his chest, as he was wont to do when satisfied with himself. He turned to Bodhi. "Sister, I believe this is the most successful endeavour I have ever trusted you with. I am most impressed," he commented, the raising of his eyebrow hidden behind the leather mask covering his face.

Bodhi smiled a sensuous smile, her pale skin contrasting massively with her deep red lips as she licked the remnants of her dinner from around her mouth. "I told you that my brethren would satisfy you, did I not?"

They stood in the deepest chamber of the vampire lair, Bodhi perched on the edge of the pool of blood in the centre as Irenicus critically viewed the four prone bodies before him. All of them were tightly bound, trussed up neatly in the corner.

"You did indeed," Irenicus conceded as Imoen began to stir slowly, and he stepped forwards. The mage's eyes fluttered as he leant down towards her and ran a slender hand along her jaw-line. "Awaken, little one… your time has come."

Imoen shot awake, eyes wide with fear. As she saw the dark, sinister eyes of her captor, the cold mask hiding his face, the terrible memories she had worked so hard to repress blasted to the surface.

She screamed.

Irenicus laughed a low, sinister laugh born more of satisfaction than malevolence as he pulled her upright without ceremony. "Hush, now," he murmured, his voice devoid of any comfort. "Calm yourself."

"W-what are you going to do to me?" she stammered, visibly shaking, and Irenicus noted with some glee that he would not need to commence much work to return her to her former state. The Bhaal blood was hidden so deeply within her that it took a lot to bring it to the forefront – yet his work had not been undone in her absence, the wounds he had inflicted far from healing. He just needed to reopen them, which would not take much.

"Do not worry; it is nothing worse than what I shall do to your _friend," Irenicus replied, nodding at the still unconscious Harrian. He looked over at a vampire lurking around the doorway. "Take her and get us ready. We should be as swift as possible – no need to waste time."_

The vampire, who had probably been a warrior in life and was now even more powerful in undeath, stepped forwards with a grim smile to take Imoen by the arm. He leant down and his sharp claws cut the ropes binding her ankles, then grabbed the struggling mage and pulled her down the corridor out of the room.

Bodhi shivered with apprehension, but frowned. "Why are you concerning yourself with her first, and not the more powerful one? Do you not ache for his soul?" she asked lightly, dipping a finger into the pool of blood and sucking it lightly.

"I ache for nothing now!" the mage responded sharply. "But the essence of this one is less powerful. It has more chance of working, thus I shall attempt first," Irenicus explained, glancing at her. "Fear not, sister; you shall have a soul soon." 

At their voices, Harrian shifted slowly, letting out a low moan as he rolled over to his back. His eyes opened, then closed. Irenicus and Bodhi leant forwards to watch him intently, though it took him a moment to realise that his hands and feet were bound; that the couldn't stretch as he wished. His eyes flew open.

"_You!" he gasped, fixing on Irenicus. "What do you want? Why am I here?" There was no response as the mage just looked at him, seemingly amused. "__Answer me!" Still no reply. Harrian looked around wildly. "Where's Imoen? And Yoshimo?"_

Irenicus shrugged slowly. "Soon, you shall not worry yourself about either of them very much. Simply know that the girl will be returned to you, and the thief… the thief has done admirably well." He stood at Harrian's confused looks, giving brief glances at the others as Minsc and Haer'Dalis slowly returned to consciousness. "He was most efficient at slipping the drug into your drinks earlier this night. A shame you did not partake in a late-night aperitif, Bhaalspawn, but Bodhi's vampires managed to take care of that."

Corias paused, increasingly overwhelmed by this rush of news. He glanced over at Bodhi, who smiled evilly and gave him a brief wave, then he looked back at Irenicus, his face a mask of disbelief. "Yoshimo did… what?"

Irenicus laughed, but again it was devoid of malice. "You have many enemies, son of Bhaal, many people who oppose you and work against you. I doubt you ever believed that they would also be standing beside you?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and glanced over towards the sole corridor leading out of the chamber. "_Yoshimo!"_

There was a long pause, then the soft patter of slow, cautious footsteps. The bounty hunter appeared by the doorway, his hood low over his head, a guarded expression on his face. "Y-yes, Master Irenicus?" he demanded sullenly, folding his arms defensively.

"Traitor!" Minsc bellowed, somehow managing to move himself to his feet, although entirely bound. "A slap in the face of our trust! A sword to the heart of our confidence! A boot to the prunes of our friendship! Perhaps I go too far, but Boo is absolutely incensed!" The hamster squeaked indignantly, but the ranger fell silent as Irenicus, almost lazily, pushed him back to the floor.

Haer'Dalis raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he commented. "An uncertain path opens as the party fractures beneath us. Destruction that was inevitable, though the source is most surprising."

Yoshimo shrugged again, not meeting their gaze. "I cannot give a reason that will satisfy. Your wrath will come, regardless," he commented quietly, moving over slowly to stand next to Irenicus.

Harrian's eyes were full of a lack of comprehension as he regarded the thief. "We will discuss this later, Yoshimo, you can be assured of that," was all he could manage, rolling over to clamber to a kneeling position. "Just as soon as we get out of here," he added, frowning considerably.

* *

Their cell was dark, cold, and reeked of blood – doubtless it had once been the home of a very busy vampire until its conversion. The three prisoners sat silently with their backs to the wall, lost in their own quiet thoughts.

Harrian stared at his hands, marvelling how the group had shrank in a mere day. In twenty four hours, they had lost Jaheira, Anomen, Keldorn, Imoen was gone and now Yoshimo had… betrayed them.

Corias closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall. _Yoshimo… how could you? How could you betray us? We are – were – __your friends! What could he have offered, how much gold __could he have offered to make that irrelevant?_

They had been there for two hours now. Harrian didn't know what time it was, whether it was day or night, or how long he'd been unconscious. He was bone weary yet couldn't sleep. Imoen was missing. Gone. And he couldn't protect her.

As soon as that thought was finished, the door to the cell swung open noisily, and Imoen was thrown in. The pink-haired mage staggered then fell to her knees, clutching herself desperately, her eyes closed tight. She didn't move.

Haer'Dalis sat up swiftly, but Harrian was quicker. Without a word he lunged beside her and grabbed her shoulder rapidly, panic setting in. "Imoen! Talk to me! What did he do to you?" he demanded speedily.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she leapt sideways, bashing into the side of the cell. Imoen didn't seem to notice however, for her gaze was full of absolute terror as she gazed at him. "Who… who's that? Keep back. Keep back!" she snapped fearfully.

Corias felt his stomach drop out. "Imoen, it's me, Harrian. Remember me?" He tentatively shifted across the cell towards her, a hand outstretched as if to show he meant her no harm. "Gods, what has he done to you?"

Confusion filled Imoen's face. "Who is Imoen? I don't know that name. I don't know that name! She's not here!" the girl shrieked, retreating even further into a corner, cowering most pitifully.

Harrian blinked as tears threatened to overwhelm him. "I'll kill that bastard," he mumbled under his breath, before glancing sideways. "You don't remember me? What about Minsc? Remember Minsc and Boo?" he asked hopefully, looking pointedly at the giant ranger.

Minsc shifted over towards her, holding the hamster in an outstretched palm. "Little Imoen, it is Minsc. See, here's Boo…" Boo, at that moment, chose to let out a rather shocked-sounding shriek. "Boo, stop that. It's Imoen. Sure she looks a bit… stressed, but it's still her," the ranger rebuked his hamster.

He turned to Harrian. "I don't know what's wrong," the ranger explained apologetically. "Boo is all jittery. Something is different about Imoen."

Imoen's eyes snapped open again, and she lunged at Harrian, hands outstretched viciously. "Get away from me!" she shrieked angrily." I'll… I'll kill you! I'll rip your eyes from your filthy faces! Do not tempt my wrath!"

Harrian grabbed her by the wrists as she tried to claw at him, and he pulled her to him in a fierce hug, wrapping his arms around her so she couldn't lash out. "Imoen, Imoen, it's me," he murmured, eyes closed tight. "Please, please… remember me…"

Imoen stopped struggling and buried her face in his shoulder as she started to sob sorrowfully. "I… she's not here. I do not know that… name."

Corias grimaced with pain as he stroked her hair lightly, murmuring comforting non-words in her ear. "You just rest, Imoen. I'll get you out of here. I swear it."

"Touching," the voice from the doorway intoned dryly, and Harrian looked up to see Irenicus standing there. The mage had clearly been watching the whole encounter, and looked unimpressed. "But you're next."


	72. Intentions

**Chapter 72: Intentions**

It was several hours later. Imoen lay curled up in a corner, sleeping fitfully, occasionally mumbling things under her breath. Haer'Dalis was perched beside her, resting his chin in his hand, his gaze not moving from the mage's sleeping form. Behind him, Minsc slumbered peacefully, Boo nestled next to him, occasionally emitting the odd, sleepy squeak.

The bard ignored him. Neither ranger nor hamster concerned the tiefling – all that worried him was, right now, sleeping in front of him. His fascination for the pink-haired mage had suddenly increased in its intensity.

It was clear what she was, and what had happened to her. Harrian hadn't guessed, and Minsc obviously didn't have a clue, but the tiefling could see what others could not. He had conceived, even in Imoen's brightest moments, just what darkness was nestled within her. Now it was so blazingly fierce that Haer'Dalis almost winced at the raw potency of it.

She was a child of Bhaal, like Harrian. Unlike her… brother, however, she had been so light of nature, so cheerful and good that the 'bad blood' had been quite unable to gain a hold on her, not like it had Corias. Oh, the thief was certain he was not under the sway of Murder, but it held him, to some degree at least.

Like Corias, like Sarevok, Imoen was born of death, and whilst she had been able to deny and hide it before, there was no such escape now. Not without her soul, the very essence of her being. Haer'Dalis didn't know why Irenicus had taken it or how, but he was sure the struggle of light and darkness within Imoen would be so much greater.

He adored the poetry of it, truly. One so light, so good, with evil and murder within her, trying to overrun and consume her. No bard could fail to be fascinated by this, even without living by the Doomguard philosophy.

She stirred, and by the shifting of her shoulders and the soft moan she emitted, Haer'Dalis was quite sure Imoen had been awake some time, thinking; knowing he was watching and not wanting to confront him. She had to believe that he would condemn her for what she was, as so many others would.

"Awaken, my wildflower," the tiefling murmured, leaning over towards her and whispering in his ear. "This sparrow shall not harm or judge you. Can you have a little faith, and arise, dearest Imoen?"

The pink-haired mage rolled over slowly, her face a guarded mask as she regarded him finally. "You know who I am. What I am," she said at last, levelly. "Why aren't you going to condemn me for it?"

"Did I condemn the raven?" Haer'Dalis asked, his voice light. "No; I hardly care for the seed spread by gods of you primes." He gave her what he hoped was a cheerful and encouraging smile, but probably came out as more patronising.

"Of course you don't; you're a Doomguard," Imoen sighed, sitting up slowly. Her eyes were red – she had clearly been crying silent tears whilst he had thought her sleeping. A pang hit his heart, and he briefly marvelled at the odd experience. "I'm… glad. I know the others don't worry about Harrian, but… they're used to it, they always knew what he was. I'm… I'm not…"

"Evil?" Haer'Dalis asked mildly. "Of course you think not, my wildflower. Very few people acknowledge that they are, themselves, evil." She looked sharply at him, sliding away as quickly and smoothly as possible before he lay a hand on her arm and continued casually. "But, ultimately, what is good and evil? All things end, my wildflower. Those near to you will accept you, and history… history will see you through the eyes of whoever writes it." He shrugged, smiling a little. "This sparrow would be honoured to see the task done."

Imoen smiled despite herself, and moved closer to him, her current intense vulnerability more than obvious. "Haer'Dalis… I'm glad you're here. The others… might not understand. Harrian would get overly protective, Minsc just… wouldn't help. Jaheira, Anomen…" She sighed deeply. "I don't know how they'd react. I don't want to know." She looked up at him as he slid a protective arm over her shoulder. "Please don't tell them?"

"Harrian will need to know, my wildflower," Haer'Dalis reminded her regretfully. "But other than that… your secret is safe with me. I promise," he finished to seal the deal, pulling her closer, offering a comfort he didn't know he had to give away.

* *

Harrian tapped the side of the glass cage he was stuck in experimentally. It _plonked like glass usually does, but there was a slight ring which suggested magical reinforcement. Though smashing the contained didn't currently seem to be a valid escape route, it was still nice to have the option._

Irenicus stood in the room also, fiddling with some controls along the wall. They were in another of Bodhi's crypts, which had clearly been converted for the mage's use. Machines of many mysterious kinds littered the room, and Harrian wasn't too sure he wanted to know what they did. He had a horrible feeling he was about to find out.

In a long row on the far wall stood about five glass cages almost identical to the one he was in, each containing a rather pitiful-looking human. From the clothing they wore and the surly expressions on their faces, they were quite easily identifiable to Harrian's trained eye as Shadow Thieves. He felt a brief surge of smugness.

"What did you do to Imoen?" he demanded of the mage at last, sounding more courageous than he felt. Though he was not lacking in bravery, he was not necessarily comfortable with directly facing a dangerous enemy whilst completely undefended. He took a few deep, slow breaths to stop his racing heart and stop panic from bubbling over.

"The same as what I shall do to you," Irenicus replied curtly, not looking up as he pulled a lever down. Energy crackled around the wires and pipes running in between the assorted cages, and one of the Shadow Thieves leapt to his feet in a panic.

"No! Don't do this!" he shrieked, his voice full of absolute terror and fear. "I don't wanna die!" He started to pound on the glass cage with increasing desperation and force, none of his attempts even vaguely successful.

Irenicus ignored him, finally straightening up and looking at Harrian. "She will survive the process, as will you," he assured Corias. "However, do not think you will live long once I am done with you. You shall serve your purpose, then be disposed of."

"What _is my purpose?" Harrian asked nervously, glancing around him. "And why do you need all of these scum?" he continued, nodding at the shifty and anxious Shadow Thieves in the other cages._

"They are just the means to an end." Irenicus shrugged. "You… I need something from you. You have failed to realise just what you are, what you could achieve with the power that lies deeply within you. It seems almost wasted on one like yourself. You will never meet your true potential, which is such a shame."

"You're talking about my Bhaal blood," Harrian said cautiously, planning to keep Irenicus talking, delay him from doing whatever he was doing so that, maybe, the cavalry could sweep in and save him. Whoever the cavalry were.

The mage nodded. "The power of a god flows in your veins. You cannot even begin to understand just what that means, just what you could do with that power." He sighed at Corias's guarded expression. "Nothing like how your brother Sarevok embraced his blood. That reduced him to little more than Bhaal's pawn. No, there are ways to make your power work for _you, without being bent under the will of a dead god." He shrugged, the gesture oddly devoid of emotion. "Just you are simply not capable of tapping into that power."_

"That still doesn't explain what you're doing, or what you did to Imoen," Harrian replied shortly, frowning as deeply as possible. He doubted Irenicus would offer the villain's exposition speech, but with a little luck he might do Corias the courtesy of telling him just _how he was about to be brutalised._

"I'm sorry, but I need your soul," Irenicus said, sounding neither sorry nor sarcastic. "The power within your soul shall support my empty vessel of a body as I depart on my plan – which you need to know nothing about." He turned back to the set of controls and pressed a button. Lights crackled from the ceiling.

"My _soul?" Harrian almost shrieked in disbelief. "Why my soul? What are you going to do with a soul? Stick it in the garden to let it grow? What's wrong with __your…" His voice trailed off as realisation set in, and his eyes grew wide. There was a long silence._

"What about Imoen? What did you do to her?" he asked at last, confusion still reigning overall. "If you have my soul, what could you possibly want with her? You wouldn't need her soul, and, besides, she's no Bhaalspawn." He shook his head, chuckling incredulously and nervously.

Irenicus gave him a long look, the glint in his ice-blue eyes suggesting he was raising an eyebrow behind the leather mask he wore. "What makes you believe that? Can you honestly tell me you know everything of her past and her heritage?"

Corias's eyes widened even further. "But… Imoen isn't…" His voice trailed off once again, realisation slowly pulsing its way to his brain. There was a long moment as he took a deep breath.

"Indeed," Irenicus replied mildly. "Consider all that has happened, consider everything you have both been through. Granted, much of the focus in your past adventures has been on yourself, and she has been nothing more than a simple companion in the grand scheme of things. You never allowed yourself to believe that she might be as grand, as powerful as you…"

"She's no Bhaalspawn!" Harrian repeated forcefully, his voice full more of denial than disbelief. "She's… she can't be. She can't have to suffer that… I know what it's like, she… she wouldn't be able to cope."

Irenicus looked at him with disbelief. "You do not give her enough credit. Indeed, the power _is there, and she has coped with it better than you – she has even been strong enough to keep it hidden. She feels the pull, as you do; the voices telling her to kill, to wallow in the blood of her enemies. She simply has the ability to push them aside which you are missing."_

He waved a hand irritably at the controls. "Enough! We are wasting time, which we do not have much of," he barked, shaking his head. "And before you ask, yes, the process should be immensely painful." He pulled a final lever on the control panel.

The last thing Harrian saw before agonising blackness overtook him was the row of Shadow Thieves scream and keel over, the life almost visibly pouring out of them even as he sank to the floor, pain filling his entire body…


	73. Heritage

**Chapter 73: Heritage**

Bright light finally filled Harrian's vision, bringing him back to the world of the living as he regained consciousness brutally and painfully. His throat seemed clogged, and as his eyes slowly fluttered open, he suddenly became aware he couldn't breathe.

He coughed profoundly, dislodging whatever was in his throat, but once he started he couldn't stop. His body shuddered and wracked itself with coughs, and he eventually managed to roll over onto his front, clamber to his hands and knees, and vomit profusely.

Unusually, this didn't make him feel any better. He had the same sort of feeling which usually only emerged after a night of vast amounts of ale, but the ache wasn't in his head… it was inside, deep inside, and far more brutal and desolating than any hangover. And he'd had some rather brutal hangovers.

Slowly, he flopped over to his back, closing his eyes, willing the world to go away and let him suffer in peace. A low, pained moan escaped his lips, but it was cut short as, suddenly, he felt a cool wet cloth placed on his forehead.

His eyes shot open to see Imoen crouched over his resting form, concern etched all over her face. He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but was cut short as strong hands pulled him to a slightly more upright position and the pink-haired mage raised a bowl of water to his dry and cracked lips.

Harrian drunk greedily, ignoring the drenched scrap of Imoen's robe as it fell from his forehead to the floor. He drained the bowl dry, then looked around wearily. "Any more?" the thief asked, slowly aware that the water had not satiated this aching thirst and hunger that had suddenly manifested itself within him.

Imoen smiled thinly. A day before, she would have probably laughed and smiled a smile which would have cheered him up. "'Fraid not," she replied regretfully, shaking her head. "That's all of your share."

Minsc, who was supporting Harrian, looked indignant. "No! It shall not be so!" he declared emphatically. "Harrian will have my drink. He is not looking too well, and I can be just as dangerous a warrior without water. The hero needs his liquid."

Corias shook his head, slowly trying to stand up, but his limbs wouldn't obey his brain. "No, Minsc, no… I'm fine. Drink your share. I don't think water will make me feel any better." The ranger looked doubtfully at him. "Honest. I'll be fine."

The warrior of Rasheman nodded slowly and deliberately, clearly not fooled, before heading towards the other side of the cell Harrian had been returned to. Against a fourth wall sat Haer'Dalis, cloak wrapped around him, eyeing both Corias and Imoen appraisingly. The thief met the tiefling's gaze, then shuddered and looked away.

Imoen wiped at Harrian's brow with the discarded cloth. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly, easing down beside him as he rested against the wall. "We heard you screaming from all the way in here."

"Immy…" Harrian shook his head as he grasped her hand. "Why didn't you tell me?" He didn't need to explain what he was talking about.

The mage looked indignant, but kept her voice low. "Tell you?" she repeated incredulously. "_I didn't know until Irenicus…" Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the floor unhappily._

He squeezed her hand apologetically. "Sorry," Harrian mumbled, looking away. "I'm sorry. It's just…" Finally, he raised her head to meet his gaze. "We can handle this, you know. I know this must be overwhelming, learning that we're… the same, and then Irenicus doing what he's done, but…"

Imoen moved closer to him, relieved at the comfort he could offer born of a bond Haer'Dalis could never aspire to – and not a bond of blood, either. "We'll get our souls back," she whispered, nodding firmly. "He's not going to get away with this."

Harrian paused, thinking for a long moment. "Im?" he asked at last thoughtfully. "Did you have any… dreams, hallucinations, after blacking out when he… started the procedure?" he asked, as the unusual ache of his limbs he didn't think was born of being minus a soul re-established itself.

She shook her head. "No… no, nothing. There was just darkness, then I woke up here." Imoen looked up at him. "You don't seem to be as crazy as I was, though," she pointed out. "I wonder what they want with our souls…"

Corias shrugged. "Irenicus is quite clearly insane. I'm sure he's perfectly sure about whatever reason his twisted mind has conjured up," the thief spat venomously. "I doubt we'll be able to work it out."

"Well, we'll have to if we're going to get our souls back, won't we," Imoen reminded him gently. There was yet another long pause as she took a deep breath. "Harrian, when we get out of this –" Corias noted it was 'when', not 'if' – "please don't tell the others what I am. I know they've accepted you, but… I don't want them to know until I'm ready."

Harrian looked at her slowly, a smile tugging gently at the corners of his mouth. "I understand," he replied softly. "I'd have preferred to have had some time to come to terms with it myself before it was blabbed to the world. I mean, Jaheira and Khalid already knew, but Dynaheir, Minsc…"

Imoen nodded, grimacing. "Odd, how Jaheira knew about you but not about me." There was yet another long pause. "If she knew and didn't tell me, I'm going to kill her."

Despite their situation, despite their not knowing where Jaheira was or even if she was still alive, something struck Harrian as inherently funny about that comment, and he barked out a quick laugh, then began to chuckle relentlessly. Imoen giggled a little, and the sat in the corner, laughing quietly amongst themselves under the suspicious and confused gazes of Haer'Dalis and Minsc.

Imoen sighed as they slowly sobered up, the situation being too grim and their minds too worn to laugh for long. "I doubt she knew," she murmured at last. "It seems as if Gorion was unable to keep it a secret about you, but me… the seed wasn't as obvious in me. Maybe in keeping everyone ignorant about the truth, he thought he could shield me from it." Harrian nodded thoughtfully. "Haer'Dalis already knows, by the way," Imoen finished.

Corias looked sharply at her, then gave the bard a brief, venomous sideways glare. "He knows?" the thief hissed, his eyes widening. "How? Why… why should he know and not the others?"

Imoen sighed once again. "I didn't tell him. He has fiend blood in him, Harrian, he managed to sense it… I didn't tell him." There was another pause. "Besides, if I had wanted to tell him –"

Thankfully, that particular conversation never managed to get finished, as it would never have ended particularly well for Harrian. The door to the cell swung open noisily, and the same vampire – who seemed to be on jailer duty – who had been there earlier stood stubbornly in the doorway. "Off we go," the undead man sneered as he entered the cell, three other burly vampires beside him.

* *

Irenicus rolled his eyes as Bodhi led in the four captives, the vampire practically sauntering with the glee of her new soul. "Why did you bring them here?" the mage asked wearily, sighing deeply. "I asked you to dispose of them. Preferably not in a public execution. Such things irk me."

Bodhi shook her head, waggling a finger under the mage's nose. "Patience, patience," she murmured, giggling a little. "You never could understand the fun that could be gained from playing with your food. You're so often very boring…"

Irenicus shook his head, sighing once again. "You try me, Bodhi, so very often," he groaned. "Enough! Proceed as you wish, _do as you wish. I have matters to attend to. Dispose of these shells… however you want."_

The four captives looked at each other, eyes wide, as Irenicus opened a Dimension Door and disappeared from the crypt. Bodhi prowled around them slowly, licking her lips and eyeing Harrian appraisingly. "Divine blood could be so very delectable," she sighed sensuously, sidling up beside the Bhaalspawn. "It would be a shame not to sample it before I have to dispose you."

They were all tightly bound, and could barely move without being dragged by the vampire guards… so Harrian could offer no resistance as Bodhi moved swiftly beside him, yanked his head down and sank her teeth into his jugular. He tried to scream, but not sound came out.

Even as he felt her drinking his blood deeply, all sound blocking out as his vision started to swim and darken, he was dimly aware of the doors to the crypt being thrown open and a trio of figures standing in the doorway.

Bodhi didn't relent, however, and Harrian could only watch as a vampire launched itself at the new arrivals. One figure, the tallest and bulkiest, raised a hand. Corias was dimly aware of words being shouted and the vampire retreating, even as the smallest figure lunged forwards, scimitar in hand.

Even as Harrian blacked out, there was no mistaking the who the cavalry were: Keldorn, Anomen, and Jaheira.


	74. Split Loyalties

**Chapter 74: ****Split**** Loyalties**

Sir Anomen Delryn sat in his quarters at the guildhall of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart dejectedly. He knew he should have been full of absolute joy this day, the day he had been waiting for his entire life… yet he could not coax his heart into feeling anything but pain and guilt.

It had been three days since he had parted ways with Harrian and the others, though it felt like years. Every hour had been an additional weight on his shoulder, and he had passed the time in something of a depressed trance.

This morning had been his Test. As Harrian had predicted, the Order would not issue him an ultimatum then cast him out, and he had achieved his knighthood; was a full member of the Order. And yet he could still not be happy about it.

He stood, hands clasped behind his back as he paced in his small quarters. Harrian and the others had opened up his eyes to the truth; he had simply been unwilling to see. Now he was a part of the Order, he could see everything that was inherently wrong with it; how such a supposedly noble group of knights were being swayed by fear and politics, taking action so inherently _wrong Anomen couldn't see how any members could accept it._

Even the new duty he had privately bestowed upon himself could not lift his heart, however. He aimed to correct the Order, to rise within its ranks until he had the power to change things, to direct them back on the path of righteousness. The masses were still the holy warriors they should be; it was merely a handful of corrupt individuals in positions of power. Anomen would have to set things right.

There was no going back. This was the course he would have to take; dedicate his life to the Order as he had always intended. Protect Harrian and the others if the Order decided to wrongly take action against them, but he could never rejoin them. He had chosen his path, and there was no going back. No going back.

He closed his eyes as memories flooded back – meeting Harrian in the Adventurer's Mart; making a fantastic early impression by braining him in the brawl in the Copper Coronet; hunting down the Skinner Murderer with the most unlikely companions; being forced to return home with Yoshimo to get the invitation to Duchinov's ball; listening to Haer'Dalis's play in the basement of the Five Flagons; that ridiculous ball; Harrian guiding him through Moira's death…

Anomen stopped as the memories rushed painfully at him, and not solely memories of Moira. He had made no attempt to contact Cor over the past few days, not even to tell him that he had finally passed his test. He no longer cared about his father. The only people he cared about were people he wasn't allowed to care for. All he had left was the Order.

The new knight straightened up, picking up his long purple cloak from the back of the chair in his quarters and draping it over his shoulder. He had the Order. And that was enough. That was enough.

Anomen nodded silently to himself as he started for the door, his cloak sweeping behind him dramatically. Keldorn, just retired from the Order, was staging the celebratory dinner at his house. Even the Prelate was supposed to be going. Indeed, Anomen had the Order… and that was enough. That would _have to be enough._

His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he marched through the guildhouse – it was late afternoon, and oddly very few people were about. His carriage should be waiting for him outside to take him to the Firecam estate. It was time to get on with the rest of his life. Alone. Without Harrian, Jaheira, Minsc, Yoshimo, Haer'Dalis… or Imoen.

Although he had barely known the young mage, he had felt himself oddly drawn to her, wanting to get to know her better, and every little fact he learnt entrancing him more, even though she was so utterly unlike any lady he had ever met or courted. That was, Anomen supposed, part of her attraction… the fact that she was so mysterious to him.

Well, now she would probably be left to the courting of that bard. Anomen could see beyond Haer'Dalis's flowery words and courtly language; see the mildly morbid obsession with death that lay within his planar roots. Delryn could tell the difference between an uncontrolled bloodlust in Harrian's eyes and a barely-contained fascination in the tiefling's. The former filled him with pity and sympathy – something he didn't dare let the Bhaalspawn know – but the latter filled him with nothing but disgust.

Yet the bard was eloquent, elusive, intelligent and adaptable. He had also pulled the cotton over Imoen's eyes. Whilst Anomen was quite sure Harrian would not let his foster-sister get too involved with someone like Haer'Dalis, Delryn doubted how much the thief's disapproval would be doubted. The cleric believed he had to be there himself to keep tabs on matters, to ensure they didn't get out of hand.

But he couldn't, could he. He had made his decision; had chosen the Order over Harrian, over the quest, over Imoen. It was not a choice he could go back on, no matter how much it hurt. It was the right choice. The Order was his future. His future was laid out before him with the Righteous Heart. With Harrian, there were no rules, no boundaries, no guidelines on how to live his life…

Anomen shook his head at how tempting the idea suddenly seemed. Those raised with rigid rules and strict tenets would either cling to those rules with all their might, or rebel against them. Delryn had found a middle ground, seeking solace in them but not relying deeply on the creed of the Order. Yet he knew he would not be lost without them… and if he stepped away he would be his own master, bound only by his faith, with his own path to forge in the world…

So lost in his own thoughts was he that he failed to notice the other armoured figure turning the corner in front of him, and the two figures collided noisily. Fortunately, neither fell, but the crashing of metal upon metal echoed down the corridor as they staggered, each trying to regain his balance.

Anomen placed a hand against the wall next to him as the other man also steadied himself, and he blinked. "Sir Keldorn! I did not expect to see you here…" His voice trailed off, and a brief look of panic crossed his face. "I am not too tardy? I hope? I was just getting ready to depart…"

Keldorn raised a hand to stop Anomen's rambling. "Nay, lad. The party is not quite ready yet. I was simply wondering if you would forestall your arrival; possibly missing the party altogether." He paused. "And I have left the Order; you no longer need to call me 'Sir', Sir Anomen," he pointed out, and although he smiled there was a trace of seriousness on his face.

Anomen frowned. "What has happened… Lord Firecam?" he asked lightly.

Keldorn rolled his eyes but made no comment. "Something most serious which I believed would concern you." They slowly continued to make their way down the corridor. "Although Corias is no longer my responsibility, I still have contacts across the city keeping me appraised of his movements… I wish to make sure the more fanatical in the Order do not decide to take action against him."

A look of shock and horror crossed Delryn's face. "Sir Cadril got his way?" he demanded incredulously, then fury took over the surprise. "If he has harmed them, I swear that I shall…" The new knight's voice trailed off as he realised there was nothing he would do.

Keldorn raised a hand again. "No, Cadril's words have fallen on deaf ears. Ryan is not a fool, and has the Prelate's ear. Unless something radically changes, Corias and his friends are safe provided they stick this side of righteousness." He shook his head at Anomen's confused expression. "The night after you parted ways with them, they went missing. It took me several days to trace them, and I did not tell you for there was no guarantee they were in danger; not to mention the fact that you had your test to deal with. This morning, I managed to trace them." The two knights came to a halt and faced one another. "The vampire Bodhi has captured them. Though they are still alive, there is no guarantee that they shall remain so…"

Unparalleled horror filled Anomen's expression. "Bodhi," he murmured numbly as the colour drained from his face. "They…" His voice trailed off, and he stared at Keldorn for a long moment before whirling around on his heel and marching back off in the direction of his quarters, the aged paladin close behind.

"The choice is yours, Anomen, but do not be too quick to rush to the rescue. The Order will frown upon such action, and I am not capable of taking on a horde of vampires alone. Neither are you," Keldorn reminded him as the younger knight strode rapidly in the direction he'd come through and charged into his quarters.

Delryn barely acknowledged him as he picked up his family shield and the enchanted mace he had recently taken to carrying. Shifting his cloak, he slung the shield over his back and attached the mace to his belt before striding back out. "I don't care," Anomen snapped angrily. "They'll die if I don't save them… I'll rescue them, with or without your help."

Keldorn smiled grimly, clasping the younger man's shoulder. "You have my sword, Sir Anomen. I simply hope you understand the consequences of your actions. The Prelate has not changed his stance."

As they exited into the corridor, Ryan Trawl seemed to materialise from the main hall and started to stride towards them. "Sir Anomen!" he called out, his voice cautious yet authoritative. "What in Tyr's name are you doing?" Realisation struck him as he saw Firecam standing next to Delryn. "Keldorn… you didn't…"

The aged paladin folded his arms across his chest. "This is Anomen's choice, Ryan. He was bullied into succumbing to your wishes before, into taking an action that wasn't necessarily right. He is entitled to know what has happened to his friends, just as he is entitled to go and save them if necessary."

Ryan's eyebrows lowered grimly. "Anomen, the stance of the Prelate has not changed. Let the Bhaalspawn and the others die and stay with the Order. The consequences of defying Wessalen are unthinkable."

"For you," Anomen responded furiously. "You made me turn away from my friends, my comrades, my allies all because of your _own fears, because of what could have been. That is far less right than standing by the Order." He turned and started to stride for the main door._

"Step outside that door, Anomen, and you will not be welcomed back inside!" Trawl barked sharply. "Aid the Bhaalspawn and you are defying the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart! Defy us, and you will be without honour, stripped of your knighthood!"

Delryn paused at the threshold as he opened one of the great doors. Trawl smiled slightly as he thought he was getting through to the knight. But the words he spoke did little to please him.

"I shall have my own honour, and forge it myself if necessary," Anomen told him soberly. "The Radiant Heart is without honour if it asks me to do what it is doing." He straightened up defiantly. "If Helm sees fit to judge my actions immoral, and strips me of my knighthood, then so be it. But I shall not be judged by a corrupt mortal man such as yourself, Sir Ryan."

With those words, Sir Anomen Delryn, knight and priest of Helm, and former member of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, strode out of the doors to the guildhall, Lord Keldorn Firecam in his wake, giving Trawl a superior look.

They strode side by side out of the hall, barely acknowledging Cadril and Irlana as they walked, not looking at each other. Keldorn grimaced as he tightened the clasp on his blue cloak. "Wait until we are out of sight before pausing," he told Anomen quietly.

As they stepped around the corner, the two men came to a halt, and Keldorn then noticed that Delryn was shaking unstoppably. He clasped the cleric's shoulder. "You made the right, choice, lad," he reassured him. "They were in the wrong. By defying them, you stuck more to the path of righteousness than you would have by following them." He looked at Anomen, making the younger man straighten up. "You are indeed a knight. This glory was bestowed upon you by Torm, Tyr and Helm, and no mortal can revoke it. In their eyes, you are still their champion."

Anomen smiled thinly, still looking thoroughly shaken. "My thanks, Keldorn," he whispered hoarsely, nodding. He had battled giants, murderers and the aristocracy, but this was easily the hardest thing he had ever done. "But we have some rescuing to do. Let us commence with retrieving the Lady Jaheira, for I feel we will need her help if we are to succeed…" 


	75. Corruption

**Chapter 75: Corruption**

Jaheira sat next to the roaring fire absently, rubbing her hands together and shifting as close to the flames as she dared for warmth. The room she was being kept in at the Harper Hold was in a distant wing, and thus was one of the coldest in the entire building. It had taken a considerable amount of cajoling to convince her two guards – currently standing guard outside the room – that she would not attempt to escape with the aid of extra firewood. Mercenaries were so dull it was sometimes painful.

She drew her cloak closer around her shoulders, resisting the urge to shiver. The hatch in the heavy oaken door at the threshold meant the guards could see inside. They were doubtless more cold than she was, in this dark hour of the night, and she wanted them to be as jealous as possible, thinking she was snug and warm as they froze. Thus a shiver was not allowed.

Jaheira had, well and truly, thrown herself into a hole. Upon arriving at the hold she had been set upon by a group of 'Harpers' and imprisoned in this room. It had taken little to work out that the group she had been captured by were not of the Harp – the Spectral Harpists that usually frequented a place such as this were absent, and the manner of her captors spoke brutal mercenary, not warrior of balance.

But they were working for whoever was behind this vengeance quest – it could be Dermin, or it could be some even higher power – and thus their being mercenaries hired by someone searching for revenge meant that appealing for them was not really an option. So she had to sit tight and find some way to escape before whoever was in charge decided what was to happen to her.

She had been here three days already, and no chance had presented itself. She was kept under close guard, her equipment Silvanus knows where, and there was obviously no rescue party coming after her. Harrian was not leaping to save her.

Jaheira supposed she shouldn't have expected it to happen. After all, when she had thought she was turning herself into the Harpers, she had anticipated Harrian keeping his nose clean of all of this. Now she actually _needed him to come to the rescue, she wanted him to do so. And he was elsewhere._

He had obviously sacrificed her to avoid more struggled against the Harpers. He had seen she was gone and been thankful that she had saved him more strife. He would go on against Irenicus, leaving her to her fate simply because it suited _him, regardless of the fact that she would die here…_

Jaheira swore in elven, standing abruptly. A flicker at the hatch in the door showed the guards outside were poking their heads in to investigate. She ignored it. That _bastard! How __dare he, after all she'd done for him! No matter what she'd said, no matter whether or not she'd asked him to come to the rescue, he was __supposed to come and save her, damn it! Not because of what he felt, or what she felt… which was nothing beyond great friendship, of course… but… Harrian had made a promise to Khalid! He was breaking that promise, by the gods!_

She resisted the urge to scream with frustration, holding back tears of panic. No… no crying. She was in control here. She was _not going to break down because of him. She was self-sufficient. She didn't __need Harrian to get her out of this mess. She was a druid. She was a Harper. She would survive._

Jaheira strode purposefully to the barred window on the far side of the tiny stone room, and tugged hopefully at the iron bars. They resisted firmly, and she sagged, already defeated. The main door was _not an option. Even if she could get through the windows, it was a __long way down. That left secret passages… but what kind of idiot made a secret passage in a room to be used as a cell? It would take the most stupid of captors to do such a thing._

She tapped lightly at the stones in the wall, a little disappointed as they yielded no results. Maybe they weren't buffoons after all. Damn… that made things considerably harder. A stupid opponent was always the best one, except for those so devious they tripped over their own feet and got paranoid in thinking everyone else was as Machiavellian as they were.

Something had to have happened to Harrian. Though her fears told her that he had just abandoned her, her heart and mind knew otherwise. He would have chased her to the ends of the world if he thought he could help her, and being told not to do so would presumably making him more willing to leap to her defence. After fighting a duel on her behalf, attacking a nobleman and intervening on one of the oldest traditions nature had to offer, she couldn't doubt his feelings. She could only wonder how deep they went.

Something had to have happened to him, she reasoned, and winced as her stomach dropped out. There was a faint crashing noise in the distance, and Jaheira briefly wondered if that was her heart hitting rock bottom.

The second crash jerked her out of her reverie, letting her know that there was actually something going on out there. The sound of clanking armour and steel on steel could be heard from outside, and as the flicker at the hatch told her the guards by her door had shifted, the druid hurried forwards and put her eye to the gap.

One of them, the uglier and fatter one, glared through the hatchway. He had to half some Orc blood in him somewhere. "Get back in there, lovely," he leered, grimacing. "We'll handle this." The hatch snapped shut, and Jaheira let fly some more choice curses.

The shouts from outside gave her more of an idea of what was going on, especially the long scream cut short by a sickening crunch. The voice had sounded particularly like that of the part-Orc gaoler.

Then the door swung open, and Jaheira leapt back so as not to be crushed by the heavy oak surface moving at high speeds. Her heart leapt into her mouth as Anomen Delryn stepped heroically through the doorway, his purple cloak flapping behind him, his armour shining so brightly – in the spots it wasn't covered in blood – it seemed almost divine in its appearance.

Jaheira cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, you most certainly took your time," she drawled, shaking her head. "A rather messy appearance it seems, too," she added, peering around the cleric to see the jailer's smashed-in head as Keldorn entered the room. "Where's Harrian?"

Anomen threw her a chain-shirt wordlessly. As she deftly caught it, she noticed it was her original one, and idly wondered where they had found her gear. Keldorn passed her the shimmering scimitar Belm as Delryn rooted through the pack on his back for yet more of her affairs. The druid raised the eyebrow even higher. "Well?"

Anomen passed her a shield and helmet. "Do not be flippant, my lady," he responded shortly. "This is not the joyful reunion you may have envisaged. Harrian and the others have been captured by the vampire Bodhi, and we have to rescue them."

Jaheira rocked back on her heels, shocked. "What?" she repeated, disbelief in her voice as she slipped on the chain mail Anomen had passed her. It fit as perfectly as it always had, comfortable like a worn pair of boots.

Delryn quickly related everything that had taken place over the past few days, skimming over as much of his leaving the Order as possible. He didn't want to dwell on that at this particular point in time – there would be chances for that later, and besides… Jaheira was not his first choice for those to bear his heart to. Harrian, Imoen… yes, he dared think it, even Yoshimo.

"Bodhi." Jaheira spat the word out like a curse as she slid Belm into its sheath. "If he is in the clutches of the vampires, who knows what they want or what they will do with him." She visibly suppressed a shudder. "On the positive side, we need no longer fear the recriminations of the Harpers – for those running this hold are not Harpers, merely mercenaries hired by whoever is at the bottom of this insane quest for vengeance."

Anomen glanced briefly at the remains of the gaoler. "Good," was all he said, simply. "So we are free of their machinations for now? And what of your friend Dermin; should we expect him to show his head any time soon."

Jaheira nodded. "I believe so," she responded as unemotionally as possible. She was similarly unhappy to bear her heart to Anomen, and would wait until – no _if, merely __until – they had rescued Harrian before she would dwell. There was business to attend to. "But let us go. Every moment we talk is another moment the vampires could be… feasting… on them…"_


	76. The Darkness Within

**Chapter 76: The Darkness Within**

Jaheira felt her stomach wrench as Harrian dropped to the floor limply when Bodhi released him. The druid lunged forwards, scimitar flashing in a blow that would have split a normal being from shoulder to groin. As it was, the super-fast reflexes of the undead vampire meant she escaped with little more than a scrape.

Behind her, Keldorn was lunging into the hordes of vampires with the skill that could make civilian life very difficult for him – the one that made him exceedingly proficient at killing people. Anomen, meanwhile, was holding his holy symbol up high in one hand, clutching a small prayer book in the other and chanting as rapidly as he could manage. Vampires fled just as much as they were chopped by Keldorn's blade.

Delryn moved rapidly through the crowds, still chanting, heading for the four bound party members. Though he couldn't free his hands for long, he managed a brief enough pause to toss Imoen a dagger, and the little mage quickly cut the ropes that bound them. In that split second of respite from turning undead, their eyes met, saying as much that a simple look could.

As Imoen untied Haer'Dalis and Minsc, Anomen finally finished his chanting, casting his prayer book and holy symbol aside before taking up mace and shield and joining the fray viciously, battling his way towards where Harrian lay motionlessly. Beside him, Jaheira and Bodhi still fought on, both relying on speed and strength to battle… and whilst the druid was holding her own, she hardly held the upper hand.

Anomen knelt quickly beside the fallen party leader, raising a hand to the two pin-prick sized marks in his neck which were still spilling a little blood. Ripping the gauntlet off his hands, he was already chanting a healing spell, and a little blue light surrounded the wound, sealing it easily. Hopefully, this should also deal with the mild blood loss he would be suffering from.

Harrian's eyes flickered open slowly. He weakly turned his head to focus on the cleric, and frowned slightly. "What are _you doing here?" he asked feebly, and Anomen thought he could detect a trace of disdain in the thief's voice._

Delryn grimaced as he prepared a second healing spell to get Corias able to stand, and hopefully help fight. "Good to see you too, Harrian," the cleric mumbled under his breath, dragging the Bhaalspawn to his feet. "Rescue party," he added, as an explanation, absent-mindedly braining a vampire with his mace.

Harrian nodded, his mind still rather fuzzy from the blood loss. He looked around absently. Keldorn seemed to have made short work of the vampires, especially as Minsc had grabbed a blade and joined in the fray, reinforced by the spells of Imoen and Haer'Dalis. But Jaheira…

The druid ducked a speedy claw as it swiped harmlessly above her head, and swore under her breath as she raised her shield to block the second attack of Bodhi's. Before any of the other party members could intervene to give her an easier job of fighting the vampire – though Jaheira was still coping, she was constantly on an increasingly weak defensive – Bodhi gave a final upper cut, catching the druid on the chin and sending her flying back into the wall.

Jaheira hit the wall hard, then slumped to the floor. She seemed uninjured, and managed to clamber to her knees without much difficulty, but it was clear she was in pain. Harrian took a step forwards just as Bodhi turned to face him.

The vampire let out a small, sadistic laugh, folding her arms across her chest, the druid clearly no longer a threat. "So, Child of Bhaal, you have managed to find yourself supported by those you thought had left your side." Although she was outnumbered, she seemed barely concerned. "The fight ends here, however…"

The room they were in was a simple square, with three passages from the walls leading to different parts of the crypt. The party, fortunately, seemed to have its back to the single solid wall, and thus the throng of vampires suddenly hurtling through the other three passageways weren't as detrimental as they could have been. It still didn't look good.

Harrian lunged forward with a snarl, grabbing a knife from a fallen vampire and hurtling towards Bodhi. _Cut off the snake's head and the body will die… Though he was unsure of his chances against a powerful member of the undead, he believed he could hold his own long enough to maybe bring the vampire down with him._

He was running in a blind rage as he leapt towards Bodhi, the same sort of red fury that had consumed him when fighting Ertof Dand's bandits, when killing Ployer, when attacking Duchinov… only, somehow, it was a far darker and more malevolent rage than he had ever felt, a kind of blackness within him that was suddenly becoming unleashed…

Then he lost control. His limbs seemed to move of their own accord, and he could only watch as he moved, a part of him appreciating the vast destruction he knew he could wreak, another part horrified as he slowly realised what was happening.

Imoen, who had been releasing a fireball into the midst of the throng of vampires, looked sharply over at Bodhi and Harrian as she heard a blood-curdling roar that sent shivers down her back… only Harrian wasn't there any more.

Well, he was, but clearly not quite Harrian – even as she watched, his body was shifting, changing, limbs elongating and skin reddening, growing in size and transforming into a shape she had never seen before and didn't recognise… at first.

Bodhi recoiled at the giant, ravaging creature, ducking a massive arm it swung at her but almost getting skewered by one of the spikes on its hide. Panic and fear were plain on her face as she leapt backwards. "What is this? A creature of pure death and darkest shadow! Child of Bhaal, what have you become?" she gasped, shock evident.

She glanced at her vampires, who still seemed on the verge of overrunning the Bhaalspawn party. "Away! Irenicus must know of this! We will observe from a distance!" she barked, and, before the party could react, the undead dissipated through the corridors, some changing shape, others simply running as fast as they could.

The group didn't have time to offer thanks for this small miracle, for the massive monster that had once been Harrian was still standing before them, whirling around unsteadily and loping towards them, massive claws outstretched. They readied weapons.

"Hold!" Jaheira snapped, her usually authoritative voice quavering uncertainly. "This is Harrian! Stay your blades!" Although they all complied with her instructions, everyone noticed that she didn't release her grip on the hilt of Belm.

But even as the massive creature reached them, it came to a sudden halt, and seemed to sway uncertainly. As they watched, it fell to the floor, slowly shifting back into the original form of Harrian, now lying prostrate on the floor, seemingly unconscious, breathing unsteadily.

Tentatively, Jaheira and Anomen approached him, neither releasing their weapons. As one, they knelt and turned him over to his back, and the relief on their faces as all they could see was their friend, with no traces of darkness lingering on his physical form, was insurmountable. "He is unharmed," Anomen said at last, resting a hand on his forehead. "Clearly… fatigued… from his ordeal…"

The thief's eyes flickered open to see concerned and fearful faces looking over him. Harrian frowned, sitting up briskly, trying to ignore the deep ache the movement caused. "What?" he demanded irritably.

Imoen opened her mouth, then closed it again, evidently unsure of what to say. "Harrian, you… you… _changed!" she gasped at last, shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean, that was… this is…"_

"It was the Slayer, Harrian," Anomen told him grimly. "In my studies of the various pantheons, it came up under the books of Bhaal. This was supposedly the physical form Bhaal took during the Time of Troubles… that was Bhaal…"

"No, it was me," Corias replied shortly, his expression closed and unreadable, as if he had slammed a door in their faces. "Evidently something to do with not having my soul any more. I guess that, when Irenicus took it, he didn't take the Bhaal essence within me."

Anomen, Keldorn and Jaheira all shared the same expressions of shock. "He took your _soul?" Delryn repeated incredulously, horror plain on his face. "That's… that's what he wanted? Your soul?"_

"Yes, I just said that," Harrian answered abruptly, standing up. He seemed surprised not to be felled by a throbbing head as he straightened up. "He took my soul, Yoshimo's a traitor, and I'm not sure why you're here."

The other three exchanged looks as Imoen stepped in. "We… we don't know what he wants with them," the mage said, visibly upset. "Just… whatever it is, we have to get them back." She paused, looking at them for a moment. "Why are you here, anyway?"

With much interruption, the three related their story, Anomen brushing over his abandonment of the Order, and, to be fair, Imoen retold what had happened to them during their capture – leaving out her own secret.

Jaheira nodded thoughtfully as the story came together falteringly, trying not to throw a concerned glance at Harrian, who was busy making a makeshift sheath for the knife he'd picked up with his belt. The thief was plainly so deeply shocked by what had happened that he was covering it up with a flippant exterior… and he had never done _that before, not to that great a degree. The druid grimaced as fear settled in her stomach, but managed to control her expression enough that the others didn't notice. "So what do we do now?" she asked at last._

Imoen thought for a moment. "When I was… in… the control room, doing an experiment – I don't know what," the mage lied quickly, "I noticed Irenicus writing in a journal. He simply set it to one side once he was done. If that's still here, it could be a pointer in the right direction." She forced a smile to her face. "Heh. How come the bad guys always keep journals for us to find…?"


	77. Mind's Eye

**Chapter 77: Mind's Eye**

Keldorn and Jaheira flanked Harrian as the group moved swiftly through the corridors of the crypt, plainly so that they could keep an eye on him if absolutely necessary. The group's equipment had been relatively easy to find, so they all felt kitted up and ready, if bone-weary. Though their better judgement told them to flee the crypts, they had no idea where Irenicus was headed to, and if this journal was available, they would do well to find it and use it to supply the answers they needed.

Anomen and Imoen were taking point, for Delryn was clearly the most efficient fighter there not having been imprisoned or on the duty of watching Harrian, and because Imoen probably had the best idea of navigating through the crypts to this experiments room. Everyone kept silent as they trudged, the tombs seeming oddly abandoned, for the vampires had clearly moved on for the time being at Bodhi's order. She clearly thought Irenicus would need to know what had happened.

There was a silence hanging over them all as they walked. Minsc and Haer'Dalis seemed to be talking so quietly the others couldn't pick up whatever they were saying. Keldorn, Jaheira and Harrian were enveloped in a grim stillness.

That left the other two, walking slowly and deliberately, seeming to be silently daring the other to make the first move and say something first. Anomen seemed to be focused utterly on keeping his ears out for approaching enemies, and Imoen hunting desperately for any traps.

Thus it was only when the pink-haired mage tripped on a lose flagstone and almost fell that they even acknowledged the others' presence. Anomen darted forward, grabbing her by the elbow, and wordlessly hauling her to her feet. "Be careful, my lady," he said at last as she threw him a vaguely grateful glance. "There are clearly all manner of horrors awaiting us around each corner – keep your wits about you."

Not even knowing why, Imoen threw him a slightly scathing look, ignoring the others as they trooped diligently behind them. "I know what I'm doing, Anomen," she retorted a little more sharply than she intended. "If it weren't for me, you'd probably have been skewered by three spike-traps already."

His expression was a slightly shocked one, for he had obviously not anticipated such a short response. "I meant no insult," he replied mildly, blinking with surprise. "Just you must simply be tired from your ordeal, and thus be extra-careful to not make any mistakes plagued by fatigue."

"My ordeal?" she repeated brusquely, glancing at him, then stopped herself. "Ah, yes, imprisonment," Imoen muttered unhappily, shaking her head. She couldn't tell him. He was a Helmite – he'd probably condemn her on the spot. He might have accepted Harrian before, but after the thief's recent display, the cleric would certainly be packing his bags and leaving once they were out of this mess.

"Don't you worry about me," she replied instead, keeping her tone cool. She didn't want Anomen to get inside her head, her thoughts; pull out images and beliefs she didn't want him to. Better to keep him sheltered from the truth, and that required keeping him at arms' length. "I won't fail the group; not like you did."

The harsh accusation spilled from her lips before she could stop herself, and she glanced away, grimacing, instantly regretful. But before she could apologise, Anomen, surprisingly, got there first.

"I am sorry, my lady," he murmured distantly, gazing at some point ahead of them down the long corridor. "I know I left you all in your time of need… abandoned you when you clearly needed me. Though I am trying to repent by helping you now, I still turned my back on you all for selfish reasons."

Imoen swore under her breath, regretting her words even further. In the time she hadn't seen him, she'd forgotten how sensitive and guild-ridden Anomen could sometimes be. "No, I… ignore me," she mumbled at last, unhappily. "If you hadn't left when you did, then you wouldn't have been able to save us in the nick of time – you'd have been there with us."

"I may have returned, but the fact that I walked away in the first place is unforgivable," Delryn responded, shaking his head ruefully. "As a priest of Helm, I am a servant to duty. Only, when presented with my choice, I chose the duty to myself rather than the duty to my friends, comrades, and beliefs. The Order was wrong; I see that even more clearly now. I could not continue to serve such a corrupt organisation."

Imoen glanced sideways at him, grimacing as she saw how pained his expression was. "Was that it? Did you leave them entirely?" she asked lightly, trying to probe without digging too hurtfully.

Anomen took a deep, shuddering breath. "Two days after I left your company, I was knighted. I fulfilled my lifelong dream, and became a full member of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. It should have been the most joyful day of my life." He shook his head. "It was hollow."

The mage frowned. "Hollow?"

Delryn nodded. "Yes, hollow. I had achieved everything I thought I had wanted, but at the price of betraying everyone I hold dear in this world. Knowing what I had done, knowing what I had walked away from, made the knighthood so empty. The Order ceased being the driving force of my life a long time ago – just I clung to it for weeks afterwards as I didn't want to admit this to myself, as I didn't want things to change."

Imoen grimaced once again. Here Anomen was baring his heart to her most frankly, and she still couldn't bring herself to open her mind up and unburden herself of her own troubles. No, he didn't need her worries right then. He had plenty to worry about. Yes… that would do.

"So you walked away, abandoned your knighthood and the Order for all of us. For what we're all doing," she said instead, keeping her eyes on the ground. He would be expecting her to look for traps – it was an evasive tactic with a perfect excuse.

"I am still a knight," Anomen replied haughtily, though there was the slightest trace of uncertainty in there too. "The Order did not make me a knight – _Helm made me a knight. Until he sees fit to remove me of that privilege, no mortal man can undo what has been done. I am simply now a Knight-Watcher of Helm."_

"Knight-Watcher. Heh. That's got a nice ring to it." Imoen chuckled uncertainly, and was gratified by Delryn smirking a little in her poor attempt to lighten the mood. He was clearly grateful that she was not going to over-complicate matters, give him more to worry about.

There were a few moments' silence as they continued walking, until Anomen cleared his throat tentatively. "My lady… I must ask… Harrian said that Yoshimo has betrayed us. Is this true?" He seemed quite fearful.

Imoen frowned yet again. This conversation was wreaking havoc on her conscience. "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "He seemed to admit that he was, but to what extent… I don't know. Why he did it, just what he did, where he is now… I don't know." She looked at him. "I don't know if he was ever truly our friend."

Anomen took another deep, faltering breath. "I suppose we shall have to face him someday," he mused thoughtfully, regretfully.

"I guess," Imoen replied shortly.

"And kill him." The knight still seemed quite distressed.

"I guess," she repeated.

There was another silence as Delryn shook his head. "Redemption comes for all men," he said at last, with false-brightness. "Yoshimo is honourable; this I believe for certain. I do not doubt that, whatever happened, he was not a willing party to it."

Imoen didn't reply as she slowly came to a halt, cocking her head to one side as they approached a fork in the corridors. There was a long silence as she glanced from one passageway down to the next, frowning thoughtfully.

"Lass?" Keldorn asked lightly as the rear guard approached, still dragging a stubbornly closed Harrian, who was scowling darkly. Imoen didn't want to know what was going on inside her brother's head.

The pink-haired mage raised a hand to forestall any further comments, and looked firmly down the left-hand passageway. "I think we should take this direction," she said at last, a little distantly, before starting to stride almost casually down the corridor. The others glanced at each other briefly before following.

They had descended to the deepest parts of the crypts, where every room bore a small fountain of blood that wreaked of death and evil almost overwhelmingly. Yet this final corridor was dark, cramped, and devoid of any of the artistry that adorned every other passageways in Bodhi's crypts. There was also only the single door to be seen, right at the very end – and, in direct contrast with all of the other vampiric decorations to be seen, it was simply heavy, solid, and metallic.

Imoen tried the handle tentatively as they reached it. It stubbornly refused, but before she could reach down for the makeshift lock picks she had collected out of bits of wire and the odd fine spike during their trek, Minsc stepped forwards and booted the door solidly.

It didn't have a chance, and simply detached itself from its hinges and fell to the floor noisily. Imoen gave Minsc a grateful glance as Anomen shrugged. "I had considered doing that," the knight said lightly, "only, in my experience, it serves as little better than a method of breaking one's foot."

Minsc smiled toothily for the first time in days. "I feel no pain when the butts of evil need kicking. You know that Boo has bestowed Minsc with greater power than any other warrior of righteousness has felt."

Anomen frowned. "_Boo bestowed you…?" His voice trailed off as he realised this was a can of worms he wasn't too keen on going off and opening. He looked at Imoen lightly. "I suppose you want me to enter first."_

The little mage raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind," she answered, grinning thinly.

As it turned out, it was just as well Delryn _was the first person to enter the room, for had it been Imoen, the throwing knife that darted through the air with incredible thief would have caught her painfully and lethally in the neck, instead of simply hitting a solid section of Anomen's plate mail and bouncing off harmlessly._

It still knocked the cleric aside, and he stumbled. This move certainly saved his life, for as he lowered his head, a second knife hummed harmlessly over it, singing as it flew through the air and embedding itself in the wall behind Anomen.

He raised his shield instantly, knowing that the moderate enchantments on the family heirloom would protect him from the missile weapons better than any other lump of metal he could have had slung over his back.

None of the others followed him into the room, and he glanced around furtively, searching for his attacker. The area was large, the far wall lined with massive glass chambers and littered with odd machinery and controls. The magical and mechanical power combined was most disconcerting, as were the shadows dancing across the floor from erratic candle flames and, somewhere, a moving assassin.

Imoen, standing in the entrance, protected by the massive metal door, kicked the first knife across the floor towards the cleric, yet another deep frown on his face. Anomen grimaced – he hated seeing her as deeply troubled as she clearly was, yet he diligently picked up the blade that had been thrown.

He recognised it almost certainly, the exquisitely adorned hilt being so memorable that it seemed burned in his mind. He had never actually seen it thrown before, only being kept for 'special circumstances', and for a moment felt mildly honoured that he had warranted the use of the owner's favourite knife.

Anomen poked his head above his shield to see a shadowy figure moving from behind one darkened glass chamber to the next, moving to a better position so as to attack. "Yoshimo!" he called out, his voice a dangerous and rich mixture of emotions. "Please! Stop! Come here… let us talk."

There was a long silence, then the bounty hunter slowly skulked from behind two chambers left of the one Delryn had been looking at. He still held a throwing knife in his hand, and his face was an emotionless mask. "Do not speak," the Kara-Turan said simply, blandly. "For one of us must die here, today. Does friendship go deeper than blood?" 


	78. Honour

**Chapter 78: Honour**

Before the stunned Anomen could respond, Harrian stumbled into the chamber, his hair and eyes wild, looking like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Nobody was sure if this was an improvement on the stunned indifference he had been exhibiting earlier. "Yoshimo!" the swashbuckler called out, shaking his head and waggling a finger as if he was berating a small child. The group exchanged looks, worrying about their leader's sanity. "You've done wrong, I know, and it's very wrong, but it's not too late… What did Irenicus do to turn you against us?"

Yoshimo eyed Harrian dubiously, lowering the knife he still held in his hand. "What in the nine hells happened to him?" he demanded suspiciously of Anomen, giving the cleric a worried, sideways glance.

"Never you mind," Delryn replied guardedly, still holding his shield before him stubbornly. Though he could barely believe that Yoshimo had actually betrayed the party, the truth was there before him, and he couldn't ignore him. "Explain to us what happened." He tried to keep his voice grim and threatening, yet failed miserably. He couldn't bring himself to hate his friend. For Yoshimo _was his friend, damn it!_

The bounty hunter almost casually sheathed the knife he held, yet his body land plainly spoke deep regret and resignation. "It is… complicated," the Kara-Turan replied evasively, shrugging. "Simply know that I did not want to do this… I had no choice at all."

Jaheira folded her arms across her chest. "Everyone has a choice," she pointed out bluntly, showing Anomen that he didn't need to be the sceptical and unforgiving member of the group.

For the first time ever, Delryn saw a flash of anger in his friend's eyes. "It is not as simple as that!" he snapped, shaking his head. "I… when Irenicus found me, I was being hunted by the Shadow Thieves; I would not have lasted a day longer on the streets, for I had angered some powerful people, and none of my skills would have kept me safe. He recognised those skills, and brought me in, brought me to his damnable dungeon." The bounty hunter shook his head ruefully. "Initially, if I were to help bring in a Bhaalspawn, I would be paid handsomely and protected from my enemies, not to mention be made powerful. I went along with it willingly. After all, who would have qualms of betraying a child of murder?"

Haer'Dalis raised an eyebrow, most plainly unconvinced. "And this is your 'lack of choice', is it, my parrot?" he asked sceptically, shaking his head. "An inability to resist vast wealth, invulnerability and absolute power." The bard cocked his head to one side. "I suppose I can see the appeal of the idea."

"It was nothing but business," Yoshimo retorted disdainfully. "I disliked Irenicus, though I had few alternatives at the time. Yet, as the mission went on, and Irenicus insisted I report to him to keep him updated of my progress, he must have noticed that I was less and less happy with the duty he had bestowed on me. When I outright refused to continue to do his bidding, as he was then still stuck in Spellhold, directly after we gave the scroll to the Cowled Wizards… he placed a geas upon me."

Imoen let out a quiet gasp, and shook her head in disbelief. "That's… that's why you couldn't change your mind. The geas would have destroyed you!" There was a long silence as she thought. "So why are you here? You did your job; Irenicus removed the geas, right?" There was yet another long silence.

Yoshimo shook his head. "He did not. Had Bodhi killed you all, the geas would no longer have had a hold on me. As it was, I believe Irenicus decided to leave me as a failsafe – to hunt you down if the vampire failed. Which I would have been compelled to do had I wished to surprise." He frowned, and shook his head. "Unfortunately, I was stuck in this room until Minsc just broke down the door. I think Irenicus anticipated your arrival here if Bodhi failed, and the vampire releasing me once you were dead."

The bounty hunter stepped over to the great control panel which made Harrian shiver as he looked at it, picking up a thin volume that rested on top of it. "Here is Irenicus' journal which I do not believe he intended to be able to fall into your hands. I am sure he thought you would only be here in an attempt to reverse the process of whatever it was he did to Harrian in this room."

Corias folded his arms across his chest, still full of a quiet stillness that was unsettling. "So what will you do?" he asked blankly. "If you give us that journal and let us leave in peace, the geas will rip you apart." The thief slowly lowered his hand to grasp the hilt of the Daystar pointedly. "If you follow the geas and attack us, you know that you cannot win. Two deaths await you."

Yoshimo nodded sternly. "I am aware of this." He threw the journal to Harrian, who somehow managed to catch it deftly. The bounty hunter seemed to wince with pain at this simple move. "I shall not emerge from this room alive. The last weeks of my days have been spent plotting the betrayal and downfall of friends for selfish reasons. To die attacking you, or to die by the geas… one would endanger my friend any more, which I do not wish. The other would be a most dishonourable death. I wish to maintain even a shred of dignity in my death."

He slowly strode towards Harrian, gave the Bhaalspawn a long, considerate glance, took in his bedraggled appearance and wild-eyed stare, then moved onto Anomen. The bounty hunter pulled out his long katana and held out the hilt to the knight. "Friend," the Kara-Turan started, a little stiltedly. "Make it a quick death. There is little honour in suicide, yet a comrade ending my life for me should appease the gods."

Anomen stared at the long, oriental sword, his eyes almost popping out on their stalks. "I'm not going to _kill you, Yoshimo!" he snapped, shaking his head, incredulity overrunning his voice._

The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow mildly. "Then what shall it be? Watch me die a horrible and painful death from this curse?" he asked lightly, forcing the hilt into his friend's gauntleted hand. "All I ask of you is that you take my heart to the temple of Ilmater. Let the priests take care of it, so my soul can be released from the geas."

Delryn still stared at the katana as if he didn't know what to do with it. He raised the blade unsteadily. "I am not allowed to shed blood. I am a priest," he said at last, full of certainty. "It goes against my ethos…"

Yoshimo rolled his eyes. "I would have nobody else do it. Club me to death with your mace if necessary; I simply would rather have my life ended by my own blade, and I believe death shall be delivered far more speedily in that way." Still Anomen didn't move. "And what if I force you to slay me? In self defence?"

Quicker than the cleric could react, the bounty hunter had another knife in his hand and was lunging at Delryn dangerously. The priest instinctively stepped sideways, and could easily see that Yoshimo was holding back.

"You're not going to kill me, Yoshimo, any more than I am going to kill you!" Anomen snapped, ignoring all of the others present in this minor fiasco. "I simply _shall not do it!" he continued certainly._

"Then you will let me die a death a thousand times more horrible and a thousand times more dishonourable?" the Kara-Turan demanded. "I thought that you, of all people, would understand the need for honour. And I speak not of the honour given to you by others, for that honour is worthless. The only honour that matters is the honour in your own mind, your own heart – the honour that you judge _yourself by, not that others judge you by. Try to learn that honour."_

Anomen's expression became ten times more pained as he stared at the katana blankly. "Try?" he repeated absently, sorrowfully. "I learnt that honour a mere day ago. Odd how it can be even more binding than the honour my former comrades valued," he mused, frowning and shaking his head softly.

Then the knight raised his head and looked straight at Yoshimo. The bounty hunter was the only one to see the tears in Delryn's eyes at this point. "You bastard," Anomen whispered, blinking hard as he raised the katana. "You absolute bastard."

He struck once, twice, thrice. Struck as quickly and as hard as he could, knowing where to hit, how to hit to make the death quick, clean, painless. Or as painless as death could be. And even as the bounty hunter's lifeless corpse started to fall to the floor, Anomen continued to strike, letting out all of the rage and frustration he had allowed to build up within his heart his entire life, and only when the katana shuddered and fell from his numb fingers did he stop, sinking to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his gauntleted hand to hide the tears he shed for the first friend who had turned him onto this path he had chosen.

There was a long silence as almost everyone mutely stared at Anomen as he did his best to grieve silently, kneeling in a pool of Yoshimo's blood as the bounty hunter's sliced body lay before him.

Harrian gave Delryn one indifferent glance before meandering over to the control panel, perching on the edge of it, then flicking open Irenicus's journal. He seemed quite oblivious to what had just taken place, lost in his own mental world of denial. 

_Next… The secret diary of Joneleth Irenicus, and a little inside peek into just what our favourite former elven madman just has up his sleeve…_


	79. Sneak Peek

_Considerably shorter chapter than usual warning! This is my lazy work; edited Bioware writings and my own sole entry. Sorry, but the information in Irenicus' diary is so utterly pivotal to the next direction the story shall take that I can't just shove it in alongside a 'normal' chapter and have done with it. Still, I wrote two __chapters yesterday, so I'm allowed a shorter one today!_

_More importantly, this final chapter marks the end of Book One of Tide of Destiny. This rather modest piece of work has just hit the 200 page mark, which doesn't sound **too **long when you think about it, and I've realised that I'm starting to get a little burnt out. Whilst I still have many, many ideas for how to round this piece of fic off, realising those ideas is starting to seem more like a trial, especially as the plans are rather disjointed. The last few chapters have been mildly disappointing in terms of logical thinking, most especially this Yoshimo/Irenicus' journal fiasco, which was a rather messy piece of plotting. I need something of a break._

**_However_**_, before you go off and start pleading me to not stop (*snort*), this doesn't mean I'm going to stop writing. I've had thousands of ideas for BG fics in my head, and since I did some eliminating of the impossible or plain too controversial, there's one fanfic which stands out as something I'd like to do, and something I **can **do. Tide of Destiny's prequel. Baldur's Gate, the original, treated with my usual flair and, erm, bastardising of the storyline. Feel free to moan if I'm heading off in the wrong direction. _

**Chapter 79: Sneak Peek**

First Journal Entry of Jon Irenicus:

_No doubt these texts will prove to be an embarrassing legacy, but I must order my thoughts herein, lest they spill from my accursed mind. _

_Spellhold was easy to gain control of. Once recovered from my torpor I made short work of what defences there were. Coordinator Wanev conveniently removed himself, suffering a peculiar reaction to a spell of mine. I forget what it was; perhaps something I heard in the temples of Suldanesselar... does it even matter now?_

_With Imoen gone, taken by those Cowled fools, I clearly needed to adapt my plan. Returning to the mainland was a simple enough task, for infiltration easily goes undetected by the skilled mage. Bodhi found me quite quickly, showing that her vampirism is a little more useful than I had previously thought, and our designs were rapidly changed to suit our environment. Soon, everything shall be ready. Soon, we shall be able to return…_

_My condition grows worse, and what I remember of my 'home' is fleeting. I see images of family whose names I cannot recall, and dream of emotions I no longer feel as vividly.  On occasion I sense nature as if she is my mother, as though never removed from her bosom, but such moments are few. I bear the hallmarks of senility with the rage and power of a young elf to lament it. _

_Bodhi endured the curse much better than I do now, but she was more focused and, more importantly, undead. She is now thoroughly seduced by her vampiric condition, despite its previous failure to counteract the death sentence she was under. She had embraced her mortality, excited by the urgency of it, but now she is confused. Imoen's soul has restored her, but her motives remain transparent, even simplistic. She revels in her carnal nature, even as the elf within despises the creature she has become. _

_I would pity my 'sister' if I was capable, but emotions come to me only in violent outbursts. Ellesime has taken my ability to truly feel, and I am left with the threadbare heart of a human, or some other short-lived vermin. I will not suffer this much longer – even now, Harrian shall be brought to the chamber._

_Bodhi's vampiric lair has met my needs quite well, surprisingly. Ancient crypts, full of an old and powerful magic which has lain dormant for centuries were possibly even more suitable than Spellhold would have been. It was little work to build what was needed, and I have finished preparing the necessary rituals. I am quite through with Imoen, and she shall be disposed of as soon as I no longer have need for Harrian._

Second Journal Entry of Jon Irenicus:

_Victory! I am restored! Harrian has given exactly what I needed, exactly as I demanded, and now I see where Bodhi has found such fire! I feel the essence of the gods within me! Damn Ellesime's curse for the weak minded spell that it was; now I am free. Harrian did not make proper use of the heritage given him._

_Now comes the time of retribution. I will not allow such a crime to go unpunished. The audacity of Ellesime, claiming my punishment was just, and the hypocrisy of 'my' people, accepting such an act while decrying mine. I will not let this rest. I will take what I intended, and those that would stand before me will fall as they should. Today is a much better day. I will act at my leisure._

Third Journal Entry of Jon Irenicus:

_This should be my final entry in this journal – upon my departure, it will be far from safe to travel with such a potentially dangerous documents. I shall be dealing with dangerous and cunning people, and for them to find something which could open up a window into my mind they might take advantage of could be disastrous._

_I do not appreciate being forced down the road that awaits me. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that, yet the idea of an alliance with the Drow almost turns my stomach. However, I will need them, and this partnership will be little more than a means to an end. Ultimately, they will fall before me, just as others shall._

_Simply because they are the most obvious candidates for this role, however, will not make them easy to persuade. The drow keep to the Underdark, and apart from the occasional foray to the surface, they have not emerged with a grand army – such as the one I will require – for centuries._

_Yet I shall not underestimate the need for vengeance. How could I, when all that I do is geared towards such a goal? I shall offer them to strike against Suldanesselar, an offer they can barely refuse. But they shall try. Indeed, they shall try to stand against me, even though it is a battle they have already failed._

_Negotiations should take time. If I am to concede that all of the wealth of Suldanesselar shall be theirs the moment I ask for their help, they will be too suspicious. Though all I care about is the Tree of Life, I shall have to simulate a desire for the riches of the entire city, and play out a drama on the negotiating table. No matter what, I have to ensure that the drow believe this operation shall go ahead on their __terms, not mine._

_As such, I am assuming it will take five or six weeks until the campaign can commence. It will take work to even get into Ust Natha, then more time to get the matron mother to actually listen to my demands, let alone get us to the stage of beating out this alliance._

_No matter. Time is now utterly on my side… an immortal soul sustains me far more than any false life Bodhi could have offered before. Gods, I am **alive**!_


	80. Side by Side

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Author's notes: The burnout, ladies and gentlemen, has come to an end! Witness with terror _the amazing, incredible, fantastic, splendorous, awe-inspiring, terrific, [ERROR: LIST OF ADJECTIVES ENDED] continuation and, eventually, conclusion to Tide of Destiny! Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Book 2: Road of Vengeance!! _

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BOOK 2: ROAD OF VENGEANCE

Chapter 80: Side by Side
    
    Samuel Thunderburp stared at the six adventurers who hobbled into the Five Flagons with disbelief. "Cor!" he exclaimed, blinking at Harrian's bedraggled party. "I've been wondering when you were going to be showing your faces here again! After you disappeared three days ago, I've been worried sick!"

Harrian, whose eyes were dark and sunken, the only part of his emotionless expression that gave away his intense inner trauma, passed a small pouch full of gold coins to Thunderburp wordlessly before lurching away towards the stairs.

The halfling accepted the pouch, pocketing the coins neatly, as he stared after the thief. "Swipe me! What's happened to him? He looks as if he's had the beasts of the Abyss chasing after him!"

"Do not jest about such matters, Thunderburp," Jaheira snapped back, a deep frown on her face. "Simply leave him to his own devices for a few days. We shall attend to him; have no fear of that."

Thunderburp retreated swiftly, hands raised in submission. "As you wish, my friend, as you wish. I meant not to interfere, merely to express my concern." He offered a weak, watery smile. "He don't look well, though. Is there anything I can do?"

Anomen took one look at the other four party members, three of which had recently been imprisoned under dire circumstances and all of whom had suffered varying degrees of trauma. "Let us retire to our rooms… have food and a warm drink sent up, if that is not too much trouble," he requested softly, his own eyes sunken and haunted. Every single one of them had been through hell of a certain kind.

"No problem, no problem," Samuel assured them, waving up the stairs. "And it's on the house. You just get yourselves upstairs, and have a rest, hmm? Don't you worry about anything; old Sam will take care of it."

The party trooped up the stairs wearily, nobody managing to utter a single word as fatigue wore them down. One by one they filtered into their respective rooms, all to fall into a deep, restful sleep, planning to recover before making any big decisions on their next course of action.

All except Jaheira. The druid lingered in the corridor, waiting for the others to disappear behind closed doors before she walked towards her own room… and went straight past it, knocking firmly on the door to Harrian's room right next to it.

She frowned with consternation as there was no answer. So he was probably sulking; it was only to be expected and, to be fair, he _did _have a _lot _to sulk about. Taking a leaf out of his book, the druid pushed open the door, and was mildly surprised to find that it wasn't even locked. Harrian had either not expected visitors, or wanted them to come.

The thief stood facing away from her, his gaze fixed on a point outside the window, hands clasped behind his back. From the state of the room – a chair lay on the floor, drawers on the desk hung open – it was quite clear that he had not tended to the destruction caused by his capture.

There was a long silence, Jaheira not wanting to breach his concentration too roughly, until Harrian slowly turned, facing her. Although his face wore an expressionless mask, there was a haunted look to his eyes which made her spine shiver. "Why are you here?" the thief asked mildly.

Irritation, caused by fatigue, tugged at her. "Why do you think?" Jaheira retorted, placing her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. Although she'd never seen him this bad, she knew what he was like. He'd have gone into a foul mood, his self-esteem at rock bottom, and find it impossible to consider that somebody might actually care enough to try and pull him back to the world of the living.

"A goodbye?" he asked, and there was a brief pause as the druid realised he was deadly serious. "Letting me know that you're getting the hell out of here? Not that I blamed you for leaving me before… it's for the best, you know. Leave. Save yourself – you almost managed it last time."

Jaheira approached him, shock registering on her features. She lay a hand on his arm, but he pulled back slowly. "You think I left to go to the Harpers to save myself?" she asked quietly, frowning.

"Are you saying you didn't?" His voice wasn't accusing, merely curious. Irenicus had plainly done more than just physical damage to him.

The druid lowered her head and took a deep breath. "I left… for you," she started slowly. "Had I stayed, the Harpers would have come in force… and kept coming, and _kept _coming. This stopped being about you when Galvarey died; it became about me and my… treachery."

"Then why did you leave? We could have kept you safe." Despite his reassuring words, his tone was devoid of emotion.

"No, you couldn't have," she whispered. "I went to the Harpers to keep you safe. Once I left you, they stopped caring about you. I knew that, if I surrendered myself to them, I could easily get you out of the situation… and whilst saving myself from their wrath would have been harder, it would –"

"They would have executed you," Harrian said firmly, a little of his old self creeping into his words as his expression darkened. "And you know it." There was a long, taut silence as he looked away and walked back up to the window. "Why did you do that for me? What makes me worth dying for?"

"Harrian…"

"I'm a monster, Jaheira," he whispered, the mask slipping away as his voice shook with fear. "You saw what happened back there… what I became. I'm nothing more than a… a monster."

She tried again to reach him, clasping his shoulder, and he didn't pull away this time. "You are no monster," she said with absolute certainty. "This, I know for sure. Whatever Irenicus did to you –"

"All he did was show me what I truly am," Harrian spat. "He took away the _shell _of humanity that surrounded my true self… and what was left behind was the monster that lives inside of me." He looked at her, and she could see the pain and anguish in his eyes. "I'm one of the Children, Jaheira. And all Irenicus did was show me just what my Bhaal blood makes me." He sank onto the bed, lowering his head.

She knelt before him, grasping his hands tightly. "Irenicus has released the darkness within you; that is true. But you are no monster. To be a monster is to be a creature of complete and utter darkness, and to not show a shred of remorse for heinous actions. You're showing remorse, and you haven't even committed an atrocity." She attempted a weak smile, which he didn't return.

"Then I'm heading down that path," he whispered, closing his eyes tight and shaking his head slightly. "And I don't know how to stop myself… If I'm not a monster, then I'm becoming one, fast."

"You're not. You can't. Your heart's too pure for that," Jaheira murmured, raising a hand to stroke the side of his face gently, her own anguish increasing tenfold at the sight of the pain he was in.

He raised a hand to cover hers, squeezing it slightly. "I can't… I don't… even know what to do, or how to…" His voice trailed off weakly, lost in the despair that had overtaken him.

"Have faith," Jaheira answered quietly, and he slowly raised his head to look at her. There was a long, meaningful silence which still wasn't broken when she moved forwards and kissed him lightly.

As her lips met his and lingered there, Harrian felt as if his brain had exploded from the sudden switch in sensations, from despair to pleasure in the blink of an eye. Without even thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him, reciprocating in the kiss as her very presence managed to chase the shadows out of his mind.

Then, finally, sanity kicked in and he pulled back slowly. By then they were both on the bed, him with his back against the wall and a giddy feeling in his head he had to push out before managing to speak. "Jaheira… you shouldn't…"

She ran a hand through his hair lightly, the smallest of teasing smiles tugging slightly at the corner of her mouth. "Too late," she murmured, then her eyes grew more serious. "I almost lost you back in there. When Bodhi bit you, it was as if my whole world had crumbled." She lowered her hand to allow her finger to run softly over the pair of incisions on his neck the healing spell hadn't banished. "I won't let you slip away again."

Although he had a thousand answers, a thousand reasons to keep her at bay, Harrian didn't have the strength to summon them as he kissed her again. Maybe it was wrong, foolish, and destructive, but right then he needed her there; needed the woman he loved.


	81. Long Day Coming

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Author's notes: Appreciate the irony, people, and pity me, for just as I finished Book 1, I find myself in Anomen's exact same position. A triangle is an ugly shape, especially when you're in the bad corner… but fret not! Things have proceeded less miserably than expected, and I'll chalk it up to experience, which should enhance my writing of this situation. ;-) Besides, depression gives me more time to write. I'm just rather amused by the irony – it seems whatever I inflict on my characters, happens to me (next thing you know, I'll be turning into a ten-foot spiky monster. Hmm, that idea shows promise…!)

****

Chapter 81: Long Day Coming
    
    Hours later, the sun managed to creep through a gap in the shutters of a room less than ten metres away, the rays efficiently falling on the face of the formerly sleeping lone occupant of the bed inside.

Anomen swore quietly as he rolled over in a vain attempt to hide from the sun's rays, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep even if he did so. He had enjoyed, at best, seven hours of sleep, which would usually be enough for him… if he didn't feel so drained by the events of the past few days.

Yet slumber would still evade him, so he sat up unhappily, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It wouldn't do to sleep the day away in any case. With Harrian in the state he was on, Jaheira would doubtless be preoccupied with his wellbeing, and Anomen was, really, the only person left to direct the others. Not that much directing would be needed, but if a crisis situation _did _arise, he didn't want to leave it in the hands of Minsc merely because he was still in bed.

But he'd need some of Samuel's wake-up juice to bring him to full consciousness.

The cleric slithered discontentedly out of bed, padding across the room to splash some cold water on his face from the pail in the corner, which made him feel a little more alive. He dressed quickly and simply, not anticipating a need to look his best today, then pulled on his boots and headed out the door.

The tavern of the Five Flagons had clearly been full a few minutes earlier as merchants, having arrived for breakfast before work, slowly dwindled in numbers, finishing up their meals and heading for their places of employ, leaving only a handful of people behind.

Anomen's eyes narrowed slightly as he descended the stairs, instantly spotting Imoen and Haer'Dalis seated in the corner of the tavern, quietly conversing. That was bad. He could take it when they were doing the rambunctious flirting thing, irritating as it was. But this… serious discussion between them was bad.

__

Why?

The cleric frowned as that treacherous thought entered his mind, prompting him to justify his feelings. _Because… well… the tiefling cannot be trusted! Who knows what his designs on her are! I suspect he is likely to use her and then leave her, for one who believes that everything is ultimately doomed is hardly to search for a long-term relationship._

This seemed to satisfy himself for a moment, so he stepped fully into the tavern and headed towards Thunderburp, his expression stony. The halfling seemed a little flustered and harassed, clearly having been run ragged by the early morning crowd, but he still managed to throw the Helmite a cheerful smile.

"Well, if it isn't my good knight Sir Anomen!" he exclaimed cheerily, gesturing to a chair before the counter and turning to prepare the hot chocolate, imported from Maztica, that was Delryn's morning preference. He so loved how the noble-born had expensive tastes. "How are you this fine morning?"

This question was answered with little more than a half-nod as Anomen sat down slowly, casting a brief glance around the tavern. "How long have they been there?" he asked sullenly, inclining his head in the direction of the other two party members.

__

So you care enough about her to worry whether or not Haer'Dalis is going to hurt her, then?

"Oh, about an hour or so now. They were here when the regulars started trickling in," Samuel offered helpfully, setting the steaming mug in front of him. "I don't rightly know what they're talking about, though. They've been ever so earnest since she came down to find him."

Anomen almost choked on the drink as he tentatively sipped it, and Thunderburp gave him a concerned look. "It's… hot," he mumbled quickly, shaking his head to try and clear his head enough to absorb this new piece of information. "She… was looking for him? Expressly?"

__

I care for the good of the party. We have enough on our hands with Jaheira and Harrian to need another emotionally wracked couple. I'll have to pair up with Minsc if things get any worse…

"Oh yes. Quite anxiously," the halfling responded, quite oblivious to the cleric's mood. "She was ever so flustered…and wouldn't say anything of what it was about." He shrugged. "Clearly something only he could help her with, I'd be guessing."

Anomen stood with a snort, abandoning his drink as he turned and started towards the stairs angrily. "I'm going back to bed," he declared with absolute certainty, leaving a confused Thunderburp behind him as he started to climb the stairs.

He didn't get too far as the door to the Five Flagons was thrown open noisily, and the stamping to herald the arrival of a quartet of thugs was heard. Anomen came to a brief halt, turning and watching, half-concealed from view by the twist of the staircase.

They marched in, dressed in the usual leathers and brandishing the typically beaten swords of the pettier thugs on the street. But the leader, a tall, lithe man in a cloak which concealed his clothes but was of a quality which placed him above his fellows, approached the counter. Delryn missed how Haer'Dalis stared at him for a long moment, an odd, considerate expression on the tiefling's face.

The leader placed a hand down on the counter, giving Samuel Thunderburp an inquisitive yet imposing expression. "My good friend… I believe I inquired at this establishment a few days ago regarding the location of a certain group of adventurers you declared were absent. I have been wondering if they have shown themselves here since I last asked?" The voice was quiet, silky, and whilst very courteous, there was the undertone of passive threat which did not encourage deception.

The halfling, to his credit, didn't bat an eyelid, but then Anomen suspected his wits had been dulled by fatigue. He fixed the man with a broad, slightly stupid smile, then nodded enthusiastically. "Mr Corias and his friends? Yep, they're back. He's currently indisposed, and I don't really think he's in a state to meet with you, but some of his companions are over there." He nodded at Imoen and Haer'Dalis, who were, by now, looking mildly furtive.

The leader turned towards them as they both stood, the bard looking worried. _No, not frightened, _Anomen, still silently watching, thought. _More… cautious. There's something not right here._

"Ah yes, the tiefling," the man declared, a slight smile crossing his face as the four of them faced the two adventurers. "I remember you quite well. As I recall, you managed to break the jaw of one of my best men all those weeks ago. Impressive."

Imoen raised an eyebrow at him archly. "Before we mess around with all this silly false courtesy, could you at least do us a favour and tell us just who in the Nine Hells you _are_?" the mage demanded, her voice deceptively calm.

The man smiled again. "Ah, the Lady Imoen. I see you are alive and well. Not that it matters to me, to be fair." He gave a short bow which _could _have been mocking. "My name is Quint. Just Quint. I work for the Count Duchinov."

A slightly queasy expression had crossed Haer'Dalis's face. "I thought Yoshimo said that nobody knew your name," the tiefling mumbled, his voice oddly devoid of emotion or any discerning inflection.

"That is true," Quint replied, shrugging.

"Then why did you tell us your name?" the bard pressed anxiously.

Quint merely smiled a feral smile.

"I really wish you hadn't asked that, Haer'Dalis," Imoen muttered, frowning a little. Then she straightened up and looked Duchinov's right-hand man in the eye. "So… just what do you want with Harrian?"

Quint shrugged. "There is the small matter of retrieving a piece of Count Duchinov's property I believe you have in your possession. His lordship went to great pains to acquire this particular item, and he will not take your theft lightly."

Haer'Dalis frowned slightly. "If you refer to the Nether Scroll, permit me to remind you that _you _initially stole it from _us_. We merely retrieved it." He paused a moment. "Besides, we no longer have the scroll in our possession. It was passed on. To the Cowled Wizards." The bard had no qualms about setting Duchinov against the powerful mages.

Quint looked both unamused and unconvinced. "Bring me to Corias. Now. I will not tolerate the fiction of frivolous bards any longer than I have to," he stated coldly, more than a slight frown on his face.

Anomen, seeing the expression on Haer'Dalis and Imoen's faces, whirled around, planning to dart up the stairs to find and warn Harrian, so they could rouse Minsc and Jaheira and leap on Quint and his thugs when they emerged.

He didn't get very far in his darting. Minsc had somehow managed the amazing feat of descending the stairs silently, and the priest collided with the berserker's giant chest even as he moved to rush upstairs.

They bashed together with a loud thump, and Anomen bounced off forcefully, in visible danger of falling back down the stairs. Minsc frantically shot out an arm to grab the cleric, but his balance had been disrupted from the collision and he lost his footing, merely being dragged after Delryn.

Quint turned at the crash to see Anomen and Minsc collapse on the floor at the foot of the stairs, the cleric mercifully landing on top of the ranger, both of them looking battered enough to be unable to offer any kind of resistance. He smiled slightly. "Mr Delryn. So nice of you to join us."


	82. Red Rage

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Chapter 82: Red Rage

Harrian kissed Jaheira's neck lightly, slipping his arm around her as the two of them lay entwined in his bed, the sun visibly rising, bathing the entire room in light as dawn broke. "Morning," he murmured, smiling slightly.

She returned the grin, resting her head on his shoulder and shifting closer to him, astounded how his simple presence could make her forget almost every single demon lurking inside her head. "Good morning to you too."

There was a long pause as they just lay there, not needing to use words to show their emotions, not wanting to ruin the moment with worthless speech. There were many questions, many unknown issues, but they weren't important right then. At that moment, there was only the two of them.

"We should probably get up," Jaheira said eventually, regretfully. "The others might start to wonder. And… there is much to do." She didn't want to pull his mind back into the heavy present, but there were still many concerns tugging at them both, many matters to be dealt with. They couldn't hide from the world forever.

He sighed reluctantly. "Do we have to?" As Jaheira's answer was little more than her rolling out of his arms and getting out of bed, he sagged back. "You're a bloody slave-driver, you know that?"

She shot him an amused yet venomous look as she picked her tunic up off the floor, slipping it over her head. "Are you going to get up, or would you rather Haer'Dalis came along to wake you up, found me here, and turned this into a massive, rather mortifying scene?"

Harrian sat up reluctantly. "I hate it when you have a point," he mumbled grumpily, scratching at the stubble on his face. His beard needed something of a trim too; he wasn't quite looking his best from several days' imprisonment.

They dressed quickly, planning to get moving before, as Jaheira had predicted, someone made a scene and a fuss out of the matter. It wasn't that they didn't want the others to know of what had transpired, more than they didn't want it to be an issue.

Corias tightened his belt, attaching the Daystar firmly, then looked at Jaheira. "Alright. Do you want to go down first, or should I?" he asked lightly. They knew it would be best if they didn't appear for breakfast together; they could most certainly do without Haer'Dalis's jibes, or whatever the bard had to offer.

Even as the question escaped his lips, however, there was a knock at the door. Harrian threw Jaheira a pained glance as he adjusted his sword belt, then rolled his eyes and approached the room's entrance. "Who is it?"

There was a brief pause. "Anomen," was the brief reply, and the cleric sounded slightly odd, a little stress creeping into his voice. "Can you open the door?" There was a slight edge to his tone which set Harrian's nerves off.

He glanced again at Jaheira, then reached down for the handle and swung the door open. Anomen stood there, his hair sticking out at right angles, clearly a little pale and evidently agitated. He didn't even bat an eyelid at the sight of the druid in the room with Harrian.

"Anomen. What's up?" Corias asked casually, but there was a slightly guarded edge to his voice as he saw the state the knight was in. "You're looking a little… erm… bothered. Anything I can help you with?"

A pained expression crossed Delryn's face. "There is one… minor… thing," he mumbled, but didn't get to finish as he was propelled forwards into the room, knocking Harrian back as Quint, who had been holding a knife to Anomen's back, entered, two of his lackeys in tow – one of them gripping Imoen in an iron grasp.

"Yes, one minor thing," Quint sneered, raising his longsword and pointing it at Harrian's neck. "Just the little matter of the property his lordship Count Felden Duchinov wants back. A little scroll I believe I've already had the pleasure of removing from your personage."

Harrian blinked, too taken aback by the sudden entrance to react. The room had visibly become a little too crowded with seven people packed inside, and whilst the thugs were outnumbered four to three, they had the advantage of a pair of what could quickly become hostages.

"You mean the Nether Scroll?" he asked blankly, visibly stunned.

"Aye, that would be it," Duchinov's handyman replied cautiously, his blade not wavering as he shrugged. "If you'd be so kind as to hand it over right now, we'll leave, no questions asked." He smiled a little oddly. "Promise."

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Ah, but leaving, no questions asked, leaving four bodies in your wake? Harrian thought dryly as he folded his arms across his chest. "We don't have the scroll," he retorted sharply, raising his head and attempting to look imperiously down at Quint. It was hard, for the other man stood a good two inches taller than Harrian, only beaten by Anomen in height.

The other man's expression darkened. "Now, I assure you that you _don't _want to go and annoy me. I happen to have the power in this situation, you know. And beyond this situation, there happens to be my boss, who could make your life in Athkatla _very _difficult, now he knows who he's looking for. I'll ask again – where is the scroll?"

"We gave it to the Cowled Wizards," Corias snapped quickly. "We don't have it any more. We used it for an exchange. If you really want to, I'm sure that it'll be a minor issue if you wish to go and take it off _them_. Full circle, after all. We stole it off them, you steal it off us, we steal it off you, the Cowled Wizards take it from us, you steal it from the Cowled Wizards. Fair's fair." Despite his calm tone, his stance and the flashing of his eyes showed just how angry the thief was getting, something Quint noticed quite easily.

"You're lying," he replied shortly. "Nobody would be stupid to _give _that scroll away; not for anything. I don't think you understand the power it contains." Clearly, neither he nor Duchinov had a single clue as to the _true _nature of the Nether Scroll. "Now give me the scroll, or I'll have to go cutting some of your friends here." He nodded at Anomen and Imoen briefly.

Harrian straightened up, his body going taut. "You _dare_…"

"Yes, I dare!" Quint snapped back, his blade swishing in Anomen's direction. To his credit, the cleric barely flinched – maybe because the grip from one of the other thugs was so strong he couldn't even move. "And if you do not comply, Mister Corias, I shall dare to do considerably more!"

"I don't _have_ the scroll!" the thief shouted in reply, taking a threatening step forwards, stopping only as Quint's blade moved dangerously close to Delryn's neck. "You can turn this place upside down and inside out, but you won't find it, because I don't _have _it!"

Quint stared at the irate thief for a long moment, his expression completely impassive and unreadable. He lowered the sword slowly, cocking one eyebrow as he regarded Harrian slowly, contemplatively. "You're lying," he said at last, then whirled around, blade raised, Anomen his target.

Then everything seemed to slow down to a snail's pace.

Somehow pulling away from the grip of her captors, Imoen sprang forward, too far away from Quint to stop him but not too far away to protect Anomen. Moving at a speed which would have seemed unnatural if they had had time to consider the situation, she muttered an incantation under her breath, her hands weaving speedily through arcane movements.

Amazingly, she was fast enough, and as Quint's sturdy sword struck Anomen, it did little more than deflect off the shocked cleric in a flash of blue light. The Protection from Normal Weapons spell had been cast just in time.

Letting out a yell that was more of a beast's cry than a human shout, Harrian lunged at Quint, his face a mask of fury. The two men tumbled to the floor, Corias miraculously landing on top, allowing him to spring back to his feet and reach for his sword.

He never quit got there as the anger within him grew. His skin started to redden, his features twist and change even as he increased in build and stature... then he let out an ear-splitting roar, and before them no longer stood Harrian Corias, Bhaalspawn thief, but the Slayer, the greatest symbol of Bhaal himself.

Letting out a curse of fear, Quint leapt out of the way of a giant claw, knocking one of his two lackeys into the path of the rampaging Slayer. Not even glancing backwards as he sprang towards the door, elbowing Anomen, who moved to intercept him, in the stomach, he leapt out into the corridor. The other thug shoved Imoen aside, kicked Jaheira in the kneecap, then followed his boss just as the door was slammed shut.

Barely giving the others a glance as Harrian, or the Slayer, bodily ripped apart the lone member of Quint's entourage who had been left behind, Imoen yanked on the door handle. It turned, but the door refused to budge, evidently blocked from the other side. They were trapped.


	83. Unleashed

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Author's Note: Erk! Knew I forgot something! No, AC, my overlooking of Minsc was not intentional. When I started Chapter 82, it was initially from Anomen's POV, and explained what happened to Minsc and Haer'Dalis… then I re-wrote it and forgot to take them into account. Brief explanation in this chapter. Though, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm not great with Minsc. He doesn't… fit in the party in the way a non-mentally challenged party member would. I love the guy, but I don't do him justice. Hmm… 

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Chapter 83: Unleashed

Jaheira ducked as a spiked arm swung at her, then leapt back as Harrian attacked her in an over-arm swat which would have reduced her to a pile of red mush on the floor, had she been less speedy. "Child, _open _the _door_!" she snapped at Imoen, her expression barely betraying the terror they were all feeling.

"It's _blocked_!" Imoen retorted, having already abandoned her lock-picks in their uselessness, and was now hacking away at the door with her short sword, chunks of wood flying everywhere in her frantic onslaught.

Beside her, the winded Anomen recovered enough to dodge a blow from the Slayer. There were three of them in a small space, and they couldn't dodge forever. The moment Harrian moved in close, cornered one of them, they were done for.

He side-stepped neatly, Harrian's clawed fist making a dent in the wall where his head had been a split-second beforehand, then dove in between the Slayer's legs, skidding across the room and emerging behind Harrian in his attempt to avoid decapitation.

Lost in the midst of his fury, without a single trace of control or humanity left within him as he stood in the current shape, Harrian swung his clawed fist again, this time catching Jaheira in the side, sending her flying into the wall. The druid slid to the floor, still conscious but momentarily stunned.

Seeing the danger behind her, Imoen whirled around to speedily deflect the downwards plunge of Harrian's claw with her sword as it attempted to split her in half. The force of the blow knocked the blade from her hand, however, leaving her defenceless and stuck in the corner.

Even as the massive shape of the Slayer shifted to attack again, there was a shout as Anomen leapt up, grabbing one of the spikes on Harrian's back and hauling himself up, clinging desperately to the Slayer. He pulled himself higher, wrapping his left arm around Corias' giant neck. He raised his other arm, and Imoen could see the flash of metal which proved that he had, in fact, gathered up the Daystar and was prepared to use it. It looked like a suicide attack.

Either ignoring the fact that there was still Harrian there, within the Slayer's body – or having weighed up the pros and cons and decided that attacking him was an acceptable risk – he brought the blade down, the metal cutting into the Slayer's shoulder. It let out an inhuman bellow of pain, ignoring Imoen for the moment, and attempted to swipe at the determined cleric.

Anomen was too close to the Slayer's back for it to grab him, but as the beast whirled around, his legs flailed behind him and a claw managed to get a grip on his foot. Delryn was yanked unceremoniously off the Slayer's back and hurled into a wall. He hit it with a sickening thud and slid to the floor, miraculously still alive, conscious, and with a grip on the sword.

The Slayer bounded towards him as he leapt to his feet, taking the Daystar in a two-handed grip. As Imoen watched in unsurpassed horror, Anomen raised the blade skywards, shouting out something – a prayer, an incantation, a battle cry? – then brought the sword back as he prepared to strike.

Jaheira clambered to her feet unsteadily, raising an arm, absolute shock and dismay on her face. "_Anomen! **Don't **_–"

Her shout was cut off as Delryn lunged with the blade, thrusting it into the Slayer's comparatively soft chest. As the metal pierced its skin, there was a blinding flash of light which seemed to consume the whole room. Imoen felt a wave of heat wash over her, then everything went black.

* *

Imoen opened her eyes slowly as she drifted gently back into consciousness. Blurry confusion switched quickly to surprise as she saw little more than a pair of greenish-blue eyes only a few centimetres away from her own.

She must have involuntarily started, for Anomen drew back swiftly as he realised she was awake, looking thoroughly chagrined. "M-my lady," he stammered apologetically, bowing his head. "I am to see you are well. I apologise for endangering you earlier, and have tended to your injuries…" His voice trailed off, and he regarded her nervously.

Imoen sat up slowly and looked around. She was lying on her bed in her own room, the door wide open, and a variety of bandages and healing components littered on the floor. In the corner, lying on a mattress, was Harrian, back in his normal form, either unconscious or asleep. Blood caked his body, especially around the shoulder, which was little more than a gory mass. Beside him sat Jaheira, patiently working away, clearing him of blood and mess before reverting to healing spells so she could see what she was doing.

"What happened?" Imoen asked, more than slightly dazed. "I don't remember much… how is he… what did you…" She stopped, blinking as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt momentarily dizzy.

Anomen gently and tentatively pushed her back down. "Rest, my lady," he said firmly, withdrawing as quickly as possible. "I have healed your injuries, but you still need rest." He glanced at Corias' slumbering form. "I took up the Daystar. It is a sun blade, and I was able to use it to bring Harrian down." He sighed deeply, worry etched across his features. "I only pray he is not too badly injured."

Imoen didn't directly answer him, merely looked closely at Jaheira, who was making some progress with Harrian's shoulder, healing the wound bit by bit so as to ensure there were no mistakes, a small flash of blue heralding the knitting together of muscle or flesh. "Is he going to be okay?"

Jaheira stopped her tireless work for a moment to glance at the mage, letting out a deep sigh. "I believe so. The blade made a mess of his shoulder, and the sunray merely augmented the damage." She returned her attention to Corias slowly, still addressing Imoen. "That is what happened to you. I was fortunate enough to be shielded from the blast by Harrian, and Anomen was wielding the Daystar, so we both went uninjured. You were less fortunate, though your wounds were minor." She gave Delryn a sideways glare as she spoke, which made the edgy cleric recoil slightly.

Anomen shifted uncomfortably. "I am sorry," he said sincerely, "though, if presented with the situation again, I would make the same decision. The only person in danger of serious wounds was… Harrian."

"And that was acceptable?" Jaheira challenged him haughtily, not even looking at the cleric as she chastised him. "I am aware that we were stuck in the middle of some rather… extreme circumstances, but that does not mean that you could –"

Imoen, watching uncomfortably, could see that Anomen was too ashamed to argue with Jaheira, although he was perfectly within his rights to do so. She hopped out of bed, raising a hand to ward Delryn off. "He's right, Jaheira. Would you prefer it if he'd done nothing and Harrian had killed us all?"

"He would not have…" The druid's voice trailed off, and her expression hardened as she focused all of her attention on Harrian. "You are healed. You should both go; I will attend to Harrian. He needs rest."

Anomen glanced at her slowly. "You are tired, Lady Jaheira; you cannot do all of the healing yourself, not without being severely drained. You should permit me to help." He had, thankfully, managed to make his voice a little more forceful.

Jaheira threw him a vicious sideways glance. "You have already helped enough," she spat venomously. "Now go. Both of you."

Imoen threw Anomen a pointed look then, when the cleric didn't budge, too stunned to move, she grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him out, shutting the door behind them. "Leave her be. She'll manage, and I don't think she wants the two of us hanging around there whilst she laments."

Anomen looked thoroughly confused. "Laments? I don't…"

"Why do you think she happened to be in the room with Harrian already when Quint dragged us up there?" Imoen pointed out, grimacing a little, then nodded as comprehension dawned across Anomen's face. "Exactly. It's best we leave them to it." There was a pause as they turned to walk down the corridor, heading back towards the common room of the Five Flagons. "So what, exactly, happened?"

Delryn shrugged, still obviously sheepish. "You were knocked unconscious by the blast of the Daystar, and Harrian fell, in his injuries reverting to his normal shape. His room was too much of a mess for us to keep him there, so we moved a mattress into your room and tended to you both." He paused, staring at the floor. "Minsc and the tiefling were untied when Quint returned to the tavern. The tiefling only said that they fled instantly…"

Imoen gave him a sideways glance, mild irritation clear on her face. "He has a name, you know," she rebuked him gently.

Anomen opened his mouth, ready to return with an insult directed at Haer'Dalis, but saw the expression on her face and subsided unhappily. "I am sorry, my lady," he mumbled. "The morning has been… stressful."

She laughed slightly, and was gratified to see his expression lighten a little. "Forgiven, Anomen." There was a brief pause as she studied his face slowly. "Don't blame yourself for what happened. It's all worked out as okay as it possibly could. If you hadn't done what you had, then I'd probably be a smear on the floor." She smiled a little at him. "Thank you."

Anomen's expression grew serious and slightly more earnest as he regarded her, coming to a halt as they reached the foot of the stairs. "My lady, it may be wrong, but I would have been willing to slay Harrian if it was necessary to save you. I could not, in all good conscience, allow him to hurt you if there was something I could do to prevent it."

There was a brief silence as Imoen's face grew softer, a little more composed. She opened her mouth to say something, then hesitated slightly. In that moment of hesitation, it was as if a door had been slammed in his face, and a joking smile played across the mage's lips – only this time, it was not a smile that lifted his heart.

"You're a sweet guy, Anomen," Imoen insisted, but her tone was playful, flippant as she patted him on the shoulder, then turned and sprang down the stairs to the Five Flagon's tavern, doubtless to where Haer'Dalis was enjoying a recovery drink.


	84. A Moment's Contemplation

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Author's note: Yes, I know, I know, I need a 7th member of the party (So my system's screwed. Sue me). Sarevok… hmm, too early, but wait and see. No, we're going to get a blast from the past for our final member. It was originally just going to be a cameo, but after playing the game once more… I need someone to add a new dynamic to replace Yoshimo, and I'm sure I've made the right choice. Okay, so this is sounding mysterious, and it's probably quite obvious who number 7 is going to be, but sod it. :-P Enjoy!

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Chapter 84: A Moment's Contemplation

"Where is he?" Imoen asked Jaheira quietly, her eyes not wavering from the oaken table before them. The party was assembled in the common room of the Five Flagons, recovering from the day's trials with some free drinks, courtesy of a rather generous Samuel Thunderburp.

"Still resting," was Jaheira's curt reply. The druid had been nursing a cordial for almost two hours know, and the formerly fizzy drink was now, most certainly, flat. The group had hardly spoken all the time it had been there, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

Minsc was thoroughly chagrined. When Quint had taken Imoen and Anomen up to find Harrian, he had instructed his lackeys to firmly bind him and Haer'Dalis, wanting to keep them out of the way as he used the others to twist Corias' arm. After having been told of what had come to pass, the Rashemani was utterly distraught, insistent that he shouldn't have been trapped, unable to help them.

Anomen was brooding, as usual. Although he didn't regret his decision to leave the Order, and was convinced it was the right one, the choice still weighed heavily on his mind. As did his calculation regarding Harrian and the Daystar – he _knew _that the alternative would have been a trio of bodies, but still regretted the pain he had caused his friend. Jaheira's curt treatment of him didn't help. Nor did the fact that Imoen had clearly turned to Haer'Dalis for support, rather than him.

He didn't know the reasons, and for this, the mage was glad. Haer'Dalis had listened as she had nervously explained her worries, and although she got the distinct feeling he didn't understand, she hadn't asked that of him. All she had asked was that he hear her out, and he had done so.

Imoen was afraid. Very afraid. The news of her heritage was overwhelming enough as it was, and to be coupled with the loss of her soul was… even more draining. To then witness Harrian, who had always been her pillar, her source of stability, turn into the Slayer… it left her cold. She had, until now, been able to look at her brother – gods, he was her brother! – and see that he could deal with his Bhaal blood… and if he could, so could she.

But now he had turned into the Slayer, and she feared she would be weaker than him, would not be able to resist the tug of murder as he had. Haer'Dalis had listened attentively, almost kindly, but there had always been the feeling that he was shelving everything she said off to one side, sticking it in the folder for ballad material, rather than seeing the situation as… personal.

Still, he could make her laugh, could make her forget her troubles, if only for a moment. She wasn't sure that his understanding would help much – who _could _understand, other than the unapproachable Harrian, who had his own troubles to deal with? Haer'Dalis would let her vent, and then remind her that there was still a life out there. There was nobody else to talk to.

That wasn't strictly true. There were other people to talk to. Just none of them were accessible. None of the others knew – although there was a question mark over Jaheira, for the druid had plainly known of Harrian's heritage before he had, and so Gorion had maybe told her. But then, Gorion had said nothing in The Letter… Jaheira would have been good to talk to, but she didn't know if she knew, and besides, the druid also had plenty to worry about.

Minsc? No.

Anomen? The cleric had his own worries, had abandoned the Order for Harrian and was now in a period of self-discovery, trying to find his own place in the world. And that made a good enough excuse for Imoen to be able to convince herself that she didn't need to talk to him about her worries. Because talking to him about her worries would require… telling him.

She couldn't tell him. He wouldn't look at her in the same way if she did, and the tentative friendship they had built would be destroyed as he was forced to look at her as what she truly was – a Bhaalspawn. So she wouldn't tell him. And, to save them both some grief, she wouldn't let him get too close, because to be in a close friendship whilst living a lie was something neither of them needed – just as being in a close friendship and _revealing _that lie could be equally painful. She would keep him at arm's length, for the good of them both.

It was for the best, even if there were times, when she was speaking to Haer'Dalis, the bard making the consoling noises in all the right places, she wished he could actually… comfort her. Comfort her without it seeming as if he was just going through the motions, doing what he thought would be needed rather than acting on instinct. Comfort her like Anomen…

Imoen jerked upright, under the sudden impression that she had missed an important piece of the conversation. She blinked hurriedly, then glance at the others. "I'm sorry; what was that? I wasn't quite paying attention."

They looked blankly at her, a myriad of expressions and emotions, with confusion sitting high up. "We… weren't speaking," Jaheira said at length, a slight frown on her face as she regarded the mage.

Imoen blushed slightly, looking thoroughly and excessively embarrassed. "Oh… uh… sorry… I was a little…" Her voice trailed off uncomfortably, and she didn't quite know why she was so sheepish at having been lost in her thoughts.

Jaheira raised one eyebrow slightly, her expression still mostly emotionless. "Evidently," the druid murmured, going back to staring at the staircase beyond the bar, leading to the rooms of the Five Flagons.

Harrian had recovered consciousness fairly promptly when she was done with her healing… but had said nothing other than that he needed his rest, and requested that she leave him to it. She had been happy and quick to grant this request, at first, wanting him to heal quickly. It was only later that she remembered how terrible Harrian would be at following her healing advice, and would never usually do it without being told. Jaheira smelt a rat.

Several, in fact. She had yet to see how the thief would be dealing with this second, uncontrolled change to the Slayer. Whilst the situation had been stressful, it was different to when he had done so in the face of Bodhi, which had been right after his soul had been sucked out and he'd been bitten by a vampire. But he had switched, changed, so very easily, so very quickly… that would doubtless fill him with fear.

Fear she would have to see him through. This did not present a problem for Jaheira, she simply wished that he didn't have problems for her to help him through. That he could be free of his curse of a heritage…

Though he was not, and he would have to bear it. Thus she would be there to bear it with him, and not simply because of her solemn oath to Gorion, made to the mage himself and then reinforced after his death. She was honour-bound to stand by Harrian, to see him through every trial, but she was also bound by her heart.

Although the depths of her feelings were still unknown, and she freely admitted that she didn't dare plunge to see how far they went, she couldn't deny that they were there. That she cared for him deeply on a level that went beyond friendship, but she was not foolish enough to stop watching her step.

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Khalid… No, she could not allow herself to think of him. She needed to be focused, determined, certain of her actions. Khalid had been a good man, a _great _man, and would have wanted her to move on, to be happy. Harrian was also a good man – had been _taught _by Khalid himself, gods – and her husband would not have wished them anything but happiness… would have been glad that she had found a way to move on with her life, to live on happily.

Harrian didn't replace Khalid. She didn't expect him to, nor did she think that this somehow made him less in her eyes. Harrian was just… different. Different man, different situation, different feelings. The only question marks here were the depths of her feelings, and they could be much more easily muddled through now she knew where she stood with Harrian. He would need her now, need her support, and in muddling through the problems together, they would be all the more strong for it.

She was jerked quickly out of her reverie as the aforementioned Harrian descended the stairs brightly. He was dressed in clean clothing, didn't seem too groggy after the healing process and the excessive rest that had followed, and looked veritably like his old self.

The thief strode casually across to their table, confident and relaxed as he pulled up a chair, nodding briefly to them all. He clasped his hands in front of him on the table, smiled his familiar smile, then cocked his head slightly to one side. "Right. We need to get down to business. No more messing around."

Then he looked at them all individually, and Jaheira saw how dark and haunted his eyes were, empty of their usual sparkle and full of a nightmarish glint which filled her with something of a horror. Her gaze dropped quickly as she broke the eye contact, only to see his hands, clasped together almost casually, with the knuckles white at the iron, clinging grip.


	85. Arm's Length

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Chapter 85: Arm's Length

"Right," Harrian started determinedly after a moment's silence, almost sounding like his old self as he spoke. "It's time we got down to business; no more messing around, no more skeletons of the past. Please. We need to find Irenicus." Although his tone was light, there was a slight edge to his voice which made Jaheira want to shiver.

The thief placed the slim volume they'd found in Bodhi's lair on the table before them. "This," he declared firmly, "is Irenicus' journal. Now I'm glad that the evil madmen like to leave journals for us to find, as it's proven handy in the past. Though I rather wish we'd remained ignorant, considering what Irenicus is doing."

Anomen grimaced slightly, leaning forwards, completely oblivious to Harrian's mood as he dwelt on his own dark thoughts. "The drow?" he managed at last, raising an eyebrow. "The dark elves in Ust Natha. How are we supposed to find out just what Irenicus is doing with them so we can intercept him when he returns?"

Harrian gave the cleric a long, pensive look. "We don't," he declared at last. "We go down there after him. We give chase, damn it!" This last declaration was punctuated with him slamming his fist down on the table, and everyone jumped as the tankards rocked, spilling a little of their contents.

"Give chase… in the Underdark," Imoen mused, and had the situation not been so dire she would have been vaguely entertained. "Spy on the drow, masters of deception and lies – except for Cyricists, of course – and extrapolate the plans of a psychotic mage without being found then hung, drawn and quartered?"

Harrian glared at her, displaying just how frayed his nerves were. "Would you rather he got away with your –" There was a long pause as the mage gave him a venomous glance, silencing him as he threatened her secret. The thief hesitated a moment, then seemed to regain a semblance of control. "Would you rather he got away?" he amended, looking a little calmer.

Minsc looked outright indignant. "No! Say it is not so! The evil mage deserves all the fury we can bring upon him, and more besides! The righteous heroes shall kick his butt in vengeance for all he has –"

"Yes, yes, yes," Harrian interrupted the berserker flippantly, shaking his head. "Very good, Minsc, very good. We're going to get this bastard, mark my words." He took a deep, faltering breath as he sat up. "We don't know what Irenicus is up to; only that he requires an alliance with the drow to make it so. That's going to be something pretty damned big."

Anomen pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "One does not simply walk into the Underdark," he muttered unhappily, shaking his head. "It is folly. Absolute folly." The priest of Helm looked so certain in his opinion that the others glanced at each other, far less certain of their goal than before.

Harrian stood angrily, glaring at the cleric. "If you do not wish to help me, then you may leave, _now_!" he snapped, shaking with a sudden fury. The tavern fell silent around them, and other patrons gave glances in his direction.

"Sit down," Anomen replied quietly, his voice soft yet forceful. The thief glowered, but slowly complied, still clearly incensed. "I think I have proven to you that my loyalty is unquestionable," the cleric continued firmly, "and I will stand by you, whatever you do. But I will not be happy to follow you to the depths of madness; think rationally, Harrian."

The thief calmed slowly, still visibly simmering. "I am thinking rationally," he mumbled sulkily. "We are to give chase into the Underdark. We merely need to find out… how it can be done. A teleportation spell of some sort?" he looked at Imoen hopefully.

The mage shifted uncomfortably. "Hey, I… I don't know much about this kind of stuff. You know I haven't done much studying; it's more intuitive… I wouldn't even know where to begin with it. This isn't my area." She looked genuinely apologetic, and troubled.

Harrian scrubbed his face with his hands wearily. "Then what," he started testily, "are we supposed to do?" Silence greeted him, and the thief let out a tired sigh. "Alright, alright, you bunch of incompetents. Here's what we'll do. Yosh –"

The silence somehow seemed to become heavier as he stopped himself, looking up at the faces of his friends and comrades, each of them looking varying degrees of uncomfortable. Harrian sighed once more, and looked at the group's bard. "Haer'Dalis, can you do some digging? Take a look around, see if we can find someone who could possibly help us?"

The tiefling seemed to consider this for a moment, but the threatening and encouraging glare from Jaheira halted any hesitation on his part, and the blade nodded solemnly. "It shall be as you say, my raven. Research should not be a challenge."

Harrian nodded once more, still regarding the confused faces before him. He stood jerkily, stretching a little to relieve the taut muscles in his back. "Uh… yes. Quite. I'm going for a walk," he declared jerkily. "Just… get to it."

The five looked at each other, nobody willing to break the silence as Harrian quickly exited the tavern. It was as if all energy had been sapped from them during the conversation; indeed, the task that loomed ahead, coupled with recent calamities and the condition of their leader, was ominous and demoralising.

Jaheira raised a hand slowly as she stood, one eye on the door. "I suggest that all of you band together to see what you can find. Visit the temple of Oghma, find Tellis, visit whatever magical low-life you need to get this done." She turned slowly. "I'll see to Harrian."

The thief had not got far out the door, striding purposelessly in the marketplace, avoiding the beggars, courtesans and merchants doing their various trades, but he was so lost in his thoughts that he could not have made an attempt to avoid Jaheira if he'd wanted to. Not that the possibility crossed the druid's mind as she swiftly caught up with him.

He jumped slightly as she slid into the corner of his vision, too preoccupied to have noticed her arrival. The expression of astonishment, a little more than was necessary for have merely been taken aback by a sudden arrival, was swiftly covered up with a sheepish grin, albeit one tinged with small amount of trepidation. "Do you have to keep doing that?" he asked wryly, not slowing his speedy pace.

Jaheira shrugged, glancing at him briefly as they approached the river. "I do nothing. You are the one who failed to notice me." There was a long pause as the two of them slowed gradually, eventually coming to a stop just out of the flow of people in the main street. "How are you?"

Harrian's smile became increasingly humourless as he regarded her, a little irritation creeping into his expression. "I turn into a giant killer monster on cue. How do you _think_ I'm doing?" he demanded shortly.

"I expected this much," she murmured, then took a step forward and grasped his hands. "Don't be afraid. We can take care of this, I promise you." There was no reaction from the Bhaalspawn as he lowered his head slowly, doing nothing but stare at her hands mutely. She extracted one hand from his grip and lifted it to his chin, raising his gaze to meet her in the eyes. "You hear me?"

There was a long pause, and for a moment Jaheira felt as if she was staring at someone else, so distanced was the look in his eyes. Then the closed, guarded and _hurt_ expression returned, and Harrian pulled back hurriedly. "Jaheira… don't. I'll take care of things. On my own… please."

She frowned slightly, then raised an eyebrow. "Harrian, if you're to get through this, it will be easier if you allow us to help you. We're all here for you; Imoen, Anomen, Minsc… and me. I will support you, no matter –"

"No, you won't," Harrian told her firmly, raising his hands. "I'm too much of a danger for you to get close to me. I cannot and will not ask you to leave my company; not after everything. I know you'd ignore me anyway. But, by the Gods, for your own good do not let us go back down the path we started on."

Jaheira stared at him, astonished. "Do not be a fool, Harrian!" she declared at last, half-laughing. "Yes, there is danger, and yes I see it… but is this not my decision to make rather than yours? I do not need you to protect me; I am here to help you. Help you because I… care for you, Harrian."

He rolled his eyes, her holding back of her true feelings – _whatever _they were – quite clear to both of them. "Just as I care for you, Jaheira," was the slow, steady retort. "Which is why I'm telling – yes, _telling_ – you to, as it's the best for both of us, stay away from me. I don't want you to end up being hurt."

"And so, because you're afraid of yourself, you're making this choice for both of us, even if it's the least logical and does little more than allows you to run off and isolate yourself, thus intensifying your condition? Before you say anything, I know you'll do that. I'm the one who always has to drag you back," Jaheira responded sharply, folding her arms across her chest.

Harrian hesitated for a moment, and she thought for a second that she had reached him as his expression softened. Then his face closed again, and he shook his head. "Yes, I'm making this decision, whatever it does to me. Because it minimises damage, and keeps you safe, as per my vow. And so, with the smallest number of people in the party hurt, it increases the chance of this quest succeeding."

The two of them stood, staring at each other for a long while, running matters through in their own heads, fighting – once again – the eternal battle between heart and mind. Then, slowly, Harrian turned away and continued walking, leaving Jaheira behind and feeling, once again, lost in her heart.


	86. Heralding News

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Chapter 86: Heralding News

Anomen slumped in his chair at the table the four remaining party members sat around, chin leaning heavily on his elbow, eyes half-closed as he fairly dozed off in the face of the discussion that surrounded him. Across the table from him, Haer'Dalis and Imoen pored intently over a scrap of parchment the bard had procured, and were forming a list so full of arcane terms it made his head spin.

"…so we'd be looking at a teleportation spell, which would mean either conjuration or evocation, depending on just what we'd need… and finding a specialist in either field in Athkatla, of all places, is going to be rather trying, 'specially since most mages have to ally themselves with the Shadow Thieves if they want to survive," Imoen was saying to the tiefling, leaning close to him so as to better read the parchment in a way that made Anomen's stomach settle uneasily.

"True, my wildflower, but I am sure that the most skilled amongst them will have their loyalties ruled by gold, rather than any less materialistic means. We only need to gather the funding necessary to pay them," Haer'Dalis commented lightly, making notes in a neat script with a rather exotic quill pen.

"I do not see how we are going to find what we need here. Travelling to the Underdark… it is not something you can do by just reading a scroll, not something where you just mumble the words and it happens. We are speaking of a teleportation spell to the deepest, darkest depths of the world, not coming up with a magic missile," Anomen mumbled, somehow managing to snap even through his weariness and mild boredom.

The bard and the mage stared at him blankly, as if they had not expected him to intervene in their conversation. Haer'Dalis raised a delicate eyebrow archly, his expression imperious. "My good hound, much as I appreciate the moral support your mere presence offers, I do not believe you are qualified to give your own opinion. You know full well that you have no magical talent to speak of." As was expected, the tiefling's scathing words were masked with a tone of what sounded like complete sincerity, which did little other than irk Anomen yet more.

Imoen raised a hand slowly. "He's right, though, but he doesn't realise that we know this full well." Seeing the mildly outraged expression on the cleric's face which came from being addressed in the third person when he was sitting right there, the pink-haired mage grimaced slightly. "Sorry, Ano, but this really isn't what you do. There isn't really _anything_ for you to do now."

He smiled mirthlessly, his eyes somehow devoid of any kind of warmth or kindness. "So I suppose I shall be sitting here idly until the pair of you find a mage who can then find a spell which can take us to the Underdark to find Irenicus," he commented blandly, frowning slightly.

The pink-haired mage seemed exasperated for a long moment, and opened her mouth to speak just as the door to the tavern was thrown opened noisily, interrupting her before she could even start.

A tall, elegant man strode in, dressed in the finery of a servant of the Council of Six. Imperiously ignoring the surprised stares that met him, he scanned the room quickly, his gaze eventually settling upon the four adventurers, and he swept towards them dramatically.

As he reached the table, he gave an ostentatious bow, then whipped a scroll from under his arm and passed it to Anomen. "My Lord Delryn, sir, I am Irjaed DeLancie, and have been sent by Judge Bylanna Iaunulin to deliver you this message."

Anomen frowned deeply as he took the scroll tentatively and slowly opened it. "There must be some mistake – Lord Delryn is my father, and he has disowned me; that title is one I shall never hold."

DeLancie smiled as patronisingly as a man would dare at his superior, then nodded slowly. "Yes, milord. I know, milord. But if you would read the message, then everything should become clear, milord."

Anomen raised an eyebrow, then cast a confused glance at the others. Imoen, who looked immensely curious, gestured a little wildly that he should read it. Smiling nervously, he glanced down at the scroll and started to read aloud.

"_My Lord Delryn_," he read quietly. "_The news this letter bears is both good and bad, on several counts. On the good side, the City Guard have, following new information offered by an anonymous source, identified and arrested the man responsible for the murder of your sister Moira. However, I regret to tell you that the culprit is none other than your father, Cor Delryn_… By Helm!"

The colour drained from Anomen's face, and he stared, stunned, at the scroll. After a long silence, Imoen reached forwards to pull the message from the cleric's unresisting fingers, and continued the narration.

"_The evidence suggested that it was he that had hired the men who had killed your sister, and when accused he confessed. He is currently in prison, awaiting trial, and has been stripped of his title and lands. Upon investigation, it was revealed that he never took the full legal steps to disown you, and thus you have inherited all that has been taken from Mister Delryn. Sincerely, Judge Iaunulin_."

Imoen looked slowly at Anomen, who was gazing into the distance with a vacant expression on his face, seeming very pale. "Ano? You okay?" she asked slowly, reaching forwards and squeezing his shoulder lightly.

Her touch seemed to jerk him back to reality, and he looked at her blankly. "Hmm? Erm, yes, yes, I'm fine," he mumbled, blinking slightly, then he turned to the messenger. "When did this take place?" he asked numbly.

DeLancie shrugged slowly. "As far as I know, Lord Delryn, some time yesterday night. The authorities were searching quite intently for you, as you went missing for a time following your leaving of the Order. It is only luck that led us to tracing you here, at the Five Flagons once again."

"The Council conspires to keep tabs on each and every one of us. Aren't we the popular adventurers who are no longer quite as secretive as our esteemed leader once fancied us to be," Haer'Dalis murmured melodramatically under his breath.

Anomen ignored him bluntly. "Is there any particular reason I was informed, other than my need to know, of course?" he asked lightly, a little more in control now. "Is there any official action I need to take, any officials I need to see?"

DeLancie shook his head. "No, my lord. Judge Iaunulin is taking care of the bureaucracy of the matter, milord, and my job is simply to inform you of what has transpired. The Delryn lands and title are, as the letter says, yours, milord. As is the family business."

The cleric stared at him for a long moment, visibly attempting to gather his wits about him desperately. "My father is being detained at the Athkatlan gaol, in the Government District, correct?" he asked lightly.

DeLancie nodded. "Indeed, milord. His sentencing shall come soon, for his confession should herald a simple 'guilty' plea. The magistrates shall decide upon his doom within the next few weeks, have no worries."

"I am not worried," Anomen replied firmly, waving a hand a little absently. He then turned to the others. "I need to go. I shall return in some time… do not worry yourselves. Get back to your research, find some _good _news for Harrian upon his return."

Imoen stood slowly, and stepped up next to him. "Absolutely. Haer'Dalis, keep on with the hunt. Ask around to see if you can find a mage who can help us. Check the Docks District; that's usually the good place, and have a hunt for Tellis. I doubt we'll be long." She looked innocently at Anomen. "Ready?"

Anomen looked at her, even more stunned, and a little lost for words. He sputtered for a moment, searching for whatever retort was necessary, but could merely come up with a simple, weak, "Don't…"

Imoen raised a finger firmly. "No. This is not a time for us, any of us, to be facing these things alone. I'm coming with you."


	87. Relatives' Reunion

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Author's Notes: The mage is already decided, and I doubt many people will be surprised as to their identity. Every NPC from the game is to make an appearance, either in the main story or in the 'director's cut' (quests and chapters that would have disrupted the story's flow had I fit them in their chronological place. There'll be a time jump soon, and that's where most of the big side quests will take place. I'll allude to them, but they'll only get written as a part of my fluffy, if TD-canon, side-project).

I cannot believe _I did not consider the _full _implications Aerie would have on the party! I'd only thought about her from the perspective of the Anomen-Imoen-Haer'Dalis triangle, without even _considering _the fact that she's another romance option. Bad Slide! So yes, one way or another, Aerie will make a temporary appearance, and her eventual leaving shall herald _somebody's _departure *cue ominous music*. And we'll all get to enjoy the Anomen-Imoen-Haer'Dalis-Aerie-Harrian-Jaheira mess! You see how I can't write Minsc well? :-S_

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Chapter 87: Relatives' Reunion

Cor Delryn raised his head from where he lay sprawled on the small cot in the corner of his cell in the Athkatlan gaol as the large, solid, metal door swung creakily open. His gaoler, a portly and surly man, stepped in, grunted a word which _could_ have been 'visitor' at him, then strode back out to allow a tentative Anomen to enter, joined by a small girl with vividly disturbing pink hair.

Cor attempted something of a snigger at the sight of his son, but it came out as little more than a sneer and a cough. He sat up slowly, folding his arms across his chest. "What's the matter, son? Have all of your worldly illusions of me been utterly shattered?" he demanded imperiously, raising an eyebrow.

Imoen was suddenly struck by the physical similarities between the two men. Whilst Cor was a good foot shorter than his son, clean-shaven, balding and with a slight paunch, the same jaw-line was there, the same hard blue-green eyes. It was as if she was looking at Anomen in thirty years' time.

The cleric snorted haughtily, but he was still shaken anew by the sight of his father in prison. "I had thought that you could no longer do anything that could disillusion me any more, father. It seems I was wrong. The shards have been broken into even smaller pieces by the depths to which you have sunk." He took a deep, faltering breath as he broke eye contact with Cor, and Imoen watched silently from the door as he clenched a trembling fist. "How could you do it, father? How could you arrange for your own daughters death? And… _why_?"

Cor stood suddenly, and in that moment he seemed to tower over Anomen, even though his physical presence was considerably inferior to his son's. The younger Delryn actually took a step back, and for one of the first times Imoen saw him seeming somehow cowed.

"Why do you believe, _son_?" Cor responded sharply, evidently devoid of regret, even now, in his lowest hour. "Saerk was to take the blame for her death! The authorities were to see it as his murder of her, and he was to be imprisoned! I would have been able to return to the business, powerful again."

Anomen looked utterly aghast, his face an expression of shock and disbelief. "For your _business_?" he gasped numbly. "You sacrificed Moira to hurt _Saerk_?" His voice trailed off, and his expression faded as realisation slowly dawned. "And when the authorities would not condemn Saerk, you tried to get _me _to murder him! You were willing to damn _both _of your children for this?"

Anger had finally crept into his voice, and Anomen's hand, clenched into a fist by his side, started to twitch dangerously. "And you still deign to call yourself my father? You who are nothing more than a dog of a man, not even fit to _live_?"

"I _am _your father," Cor responded, now venomous and petty in his absolute defeat. "Never forget that, boy! If I am a dog, then you are every bit as much of a dog as me! Do not presume to lord over me, for you forget that we Delryns are one and the same. Some day, you shall look back and understand what I have done, and why I did it!"

Anomen shook his head firmly, fury still bubbling below the surface yet somehow under a small degree of control. "I believe you disowned me, father. And whilst that shall not stand, legally, I acknowledge your distancing from me. I shall take the material things you have left me, _father_, and do my best to bring some honour back to the family name. But I do not recognise you as anything more than a murderer."

"Honour," Cor repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth as if trying to get the feel for it. "Honour? You, who have turned your back on everything in your life are speaking to me of honour?" He laughed hollowly. "Yes, I know how you abandoned your precious Order on a mere whim, and are now _nothing _to anybody in this city. Very well. Take your 'honour', and do as you wish with it. We shall see how this turns out."

Anomen straightened up solemnly. "Good bye, Cor. I pray only that the courts hang you and the Gods condemn you to the Abyss," he spat venomously, before turning on his heel and marching out, all but ignoring Imoen.

Cor laughed as his son disappeared, but without Anomen before him, the façade was a little weak. He looked at Imoen, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. "And what do you want?" he asked, bitterly yet wearily. "To carry his tune and list my sins one by one?"

Imoen shook her head, her expression emotionless. "He's nothing like you, you know," she whispered firmly. "And don't assume he is. He's already turned away from the path you followed. Oh, he could have _been _you, had the scenarios been different, but he's already saved himself from that fate." She looked away, and turned to go. "The only good thing about this is that he's forever out of your shadow. Now you'll see just what this son of yours can do."

Cor shook his head solemnly as he sat down on the cot in his prison cell. "What is it to you what a son of Delryn can achieve?" he asked, his voice ringing of mere inquisitiveness, but it was a simple query that was enough to send Imoen striding out quickly, closing the door firmly behind her.

* *

Anomen had marched blindly straight away from the gaol, storming through the gardens of the Government District in little more than a dazed fury. He could see his house – his house, _his _house, not his father's – just in the distance, but had no desire to go there today. That was a task which could wait for another day.

He came to a halt at the fountain in the middle of the gardens, and stared into its surprisingly clear waters. He had often roamed these gardens in his youth when he wasn't studying, or, later, working for the Order. Usually with Moira…

Anomen closed his eyes tightly as he sat slowly at the side of the fountain, trying to repress the memories that assaulted him. Not dark memories of his father's tyranny, no, something even worse. The happy recollections of time spent with his sister, blissful times that could never be recaptured…

"Heya."

The cleric almost jumped as Imoen lightly sat herself next to him. He had not requested her company on this visit, had not even _wanted _it, but he found himself unable to turn her away. And at the same time… he didn't want her to leave him right then.

"My lady," he murmured miserably. "I am sorry you had to witness that… my father and I have always had something of a… trying past, but for it to be displayed so brutally before you… I offer you my apologies." Despite his vaguely eloquent, if hesitant words, his voice still sounded numb.

Imoen ignored his smooth monologue, and simply reached out to clasp his hand. Whilst she knew she would do better to hold him at arms length, to keep him away until she figured out just what she was going to do with herself and she had received his judgement on just _what _she was, she couldn't stop herself from offering the obviously needed comfort. "It's no problem, your lordship," she offered lightly.

He smiled thinly, finally looking up at her, hope shining through his despair. "I suppose I _am _now the new Lord Delryn. Odd. The title never… never was considered in all my plans for the future." Anomen looked down again hesitantly. "Though I suppose my plans for the future have turned to ashes now."

"Because you don't have the Order, you have absolutely nothing?" Imoen scoffed lightly. "You're saying there's nothing in your life now that you're not running along with those stuffed-shirts, those ponces?"

He laughed humourlessly at her description, quite unable to help himself. "I have had nothing else to aspire to in my life," he confessed. "And now… what do I have? I can roam the lands with Harrian on his quest, but other than an adventurer's life… what do I have?"

Imoen rolled her eyes, then raised a hand to the side of his face gently. He started at her delicate touch, but didn't resist as she turned his head to force him to focus on the Delryn Estate, lying not a hundred metres away. "What's that? Your home. Your estate. Something for you to focus on in life." She withdrew her hand, then poked him in the chest. "What's that on your tunic? That eye I see? Helm's symbol, perhaps?" She sighed at his bemused expression. "You have a living, you have a faith, you have a home. Where you go from there is your own choice."

Anomen remained silent for a long while as he stared at her, the words probably bouncing around inside his head. Finally, a wry smile played across his lips. "Firstly, I may stop deluding myself in calling myself a knight," he muttered under his breath. "But I must ask – are you my conscience incarnate, or have you appeared to help me develop such an elusive thing?"

Imoen laughed lightly, though she felt her stomach lurch at his words. _Can't get close, can't get close…_ She patted him on the shoulder in a rather restrained way. "I'm just helping you think straight, Anomen. We all need someone to give us a hand with that one sometimes."


	88. The Gifts

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Author's notes: Right, replies to reviews!

Death Knight's Crowbar: Rehashing the same stuff over again? Personally, I think not. Same as they were 10-20 chapters ago? Harrian's had his soul sucked from him, Imoen too (plus she's found she's a Bhaalspawn); Anomen's rejected _the Order – pretty damn big – and Jaheira's turned her back on the Harpers. Yoshimo's _dead._ The only people who haven't changed much are Haer'Dalis, who's fine how he is, and Minsc. Yes, I know I have a weakness for writing Minsc. I'm… working on what to do with that. He doesn't quite _fit_. You may think I'm abandoning plot for scenes, but the story's currently at a slow bit. It'll whip up in a few chapters, with luck, and the vaunted mini-quests should take place. And keep the ideas for different stories? The different stories I have in my head, which buzz around in there and never come out because I can only write one story at a time? Why should I limit myself? What happened to Keldorn will be explained; he was hardly in fairy godfather land before. And he hardly saved the day, anyway. He prevented a fight the party would have probably won anyway._

Mija: I thought 'Heya' was so perfectly… Imoen _for that moment. I love how a single word, a simple greeting can have such an affect._

Hunter: Viconia? I confess, I've always been fairly… neutral on Viconia. Not disliking her like I dislike Aerie, but ambiguous in my feelings for her. Besides, I'm not sure she'd fit in this party. And major cleric overdose!

****

Chapter 88: The Gifts

"I hate this place," Harrian muttered sulkily as he glared at any denizens of the Sea's Bounty that dared glance in his direction. Although most of the customers were the regular pirates and sailors, pausing in the tavern for a bit of sustenance before carrying on with their ploughing of the water, the swashbuckler would bet everything in the party's exceedingly light purses that a good proportion of them were Shadow Thieves. He took a sip of his ale, so watered down it was almost devoid of taste, and gave a pair of insidious figures lurking in the corner another glare. "Why do we have to come here?"

"Because this is the best place to find Tellis. He doesn't like coming to the Five Flagons now Yoshimo's gone," Imoen replied distantly from where she sat across the table next to Haer'Dalis. The tiefling was scanning the crowd intently, and although the trio had attempted to blend in, Harrian's perpetual scowl, Imoen's bright pink hair, and the fiendishly odd sight the bard presented made this rather hard.

"Don't see why you need me along," Harrian muttered sulkily, wrapping his long-fingered hands around the ale mug and staring into the dark, murky liquid. He rather regretted ordering this drink, with hindsight.

"My raven… would you prefer it if you were left to aiding Anomen and Minsc as Jaheira directs them in the moving of our affairs from the Five Flagons to the Delryn estate?" Haer'Dalis asked lightly, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, I think I spot yon informant!" he added suddenly, standing and striding off into the crowd.

Harrian considered this for a moment, watching the tiefling disappear, then turned forlornly to Imoen. "He has a point, you know," he muttered unhappily, staring back into the drink, almost expecting the yeast to be able to stare back at him.

Imoen reached across the table and took his hand gently, suddenly feeling that she would have to play mother hen to every member of this party, save Haer'Dalis… and he had to mother her. "Are you really sure about all this?"

"If, by all this, you mean my decision earlier… well, yes. It doesn't mean it's easy, mind. But it's for the best." Harrian pulled away a little, leaning back in his chair. "Now that I know more about myself… more about my heritage, it's shown me that… that I can't really be close to people. To anyone. Not if I don't want to bring them death."

Imoen glanced away slowly, her gaze flicking out to where Haer'Dalis's blue-haired form stood out from the crowd. "That's the curse of Bhaal blood," she whispered solemnly. "So few people can understand, or at least accept it… and those that do… we'll just end up hurting." She stared back at Harrian at last, squeezing his hand a little. "At least we have each other."

Harrian nodded, looking a little sheepish. "Ugh, sorry, Im… I didn't mean to go all morbid on you like that. It's… I mean, we'll manage." He leant forwards and lowered his voice urgently. "We _will _get our souls back. I promise you that."

The pink-haired mage smiled ruefully. "I know. But after that? We'll still be marked by our heritage. This heritage that doesn't seem to allow us to accept other people into our lives, unless we want to see them turn up dead."

The swashbuckler didn't meet her gaze, and the two Bhaalspawn sat in silence for a moment, deeply thinking of those they tried to push out of their lives. "We still have each other, like you said," Harrian conceded at last. His glance flickered over to where the tiefling bard of the party conversed with someone in the crowd. "And you still have Haer'Dalis to listen. I can think of nobody better suited to cope with this Bhaalspawn stuff than him."

Imoen chuckled a little. "Yes, he… he can understand more than most. He listens without complicating things. And he doesn't judge me on it; he still treats me like I'm the same. I'm not sure the others would…"

"Don't be so quick to assume that," Harrian warned. "They took it fairly easily when they found out. Well, Minsc and Jaheira already knew, but Haer'Dalis, Anomen… and Yoshimo took it fairly in their stride. I know it's a bit different, as you have a different relationship with them all, but… don't… assume. They may need to know some time."

"When? When and why might they need to know?" Imoen demanded, a little accusingly. Harrian met her gaze wordlessly, and she subsided as they stared at each other for a long moment. "I'll… in my own time, please, Harry. Let's sort out what we're doing before I let loose the hells, okay?"

Her brother smiled slightly at her, raising an eyebrow as he took a sip of his ale. "It's been a long time since you called me Harry, Im," he observed lightly, chuckling. "And sorry. I don't mean to pressure you… but if you're going to lose sleep over this, it's quite unnecessary."

"At the end of the day, does it matter?" Imoen commented, a little morbidly. "We still can't allow these people into our lives. And don't say that I can, but you can't, or equal rubbish, or I'll just be utterly convinced you're running away from the problem."

Harrian frowned. "You think I'm running away from the problem with Jaheira?" he asked suspiciously, and she could instantly see his expression close up, giving her the impression of doors slammed shut before her.

"You know there are times I can read you and times you're blank to me. This is one of the second times, Harry. I'm reserving judgement." Imoen gave him a wry and light smile which undermined the slightly sparring nature of the conversation. "And you can be a horrible hypocrite at times. But hush, Haer'Dalis is back."

The two fell silent as the tiefling strode back to the table, the familiar shape of the mousy-looking man named Tellis lurking behind him. The bard took one seat, the nervous informant another, and the four sat in silence for a long moment.

Harrian cocked an eyebrow. "Which of our many questions or issues are you here to help us with, friend?" he asked easily, in a sudden and slightly disconcerting switch from how confrontational he'd just been with Imoen.

Tellis cracked his knuckles in a way that made the swashbuckler wince. "Well, it depends on what questions you ask me first, heh heh." He grinned toothily. "As for what yon bard asked of me about the mages… I may have some success. There's one individual I'd like to check out for you, but I'm not sure he'd be willing to go for such a task. You'll have to wait there."

Haer'Dalis frowned a little, leaning forwards. "Why not simply tell us the name, and then permit us to ask this wizard ourselves? I am sure we can present our own case for employment much better than you would be able to, my robin. No offence intended."

Harrian shook his head. "He can't do that," the swashbuckler answered for the informant. "The mage would never talk to him again if he knew he'd given his – or her – name out to some random person. Not in Athkatla."

Tellis nodded quickly. "Aye, you've got the gist of it. Heh heh." The toothy smile returned, this time with a slightly leery edge directed at a dubious Imoen. "But have no fear; I am working on your behalf. Now that you're staying at the Delryn estate, you people are a little more credible to those I'd try to win over, too."

Imoen frowned. "How did you know we're staying at the Delryn estate? We only started the move this morning," she asked suspiciously, her uncharacteristically piercing gaze making the informant wilt a little.

"It's my job to know these things, I'm afraid," Tellis told her without apology. "I have to keep my ear to the ground, or I'm out of business. And you people are some of my clients; I have to keep tabs."

"Isn't that a comforting thought," Harrian muttered darkly.

Imoen shook her head, glancing thoughtfully at the informant. "It was you, wasn't it. You were the unknown informant who happened to tell the Athkatlan authorities that Lord Cor Delryn had murdered his daughter."

Tellis smiled, for once seeming quite confident. "Nope, not me. Heh heh. I happened to tell the anonymous informant all I knew, mind. An oriental friend of mine had been quite keen to extract that information, when I told him I had it available. Around the time that cleric of your group left the knights, it was."

Harrian, Haer'Dalis and Imoen exchanged glances.

"Yoshimo," the swashbuckler sighed, shaking his head. "We really should have guessed… that man was…" Harrian leant back, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Talk about a final gift."


	89. Point of No Return

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AN: Sorry for the vast _delays this fanfic has been suffering. Massive amounts of work have been weighing me down. But it's Christmas time, and I intend to make the most of two weeks' holidays. I'll see _if _I can get back to a chapter a day or so. *crosses fingers* I'm writing, I'm writing…_

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Chapter 89: Point of No Return
    
    Anomen stepped into the parlour of his estate and lightly whacked Harrian, who was sprawled luxuriously on the large couch in there, on the head with his leather glove. "Are you going to actually lend us some assistance, or will you lie there and watch us merrily go about our work?"

Harrian glanced up at the cleric, smiling a little stupidly. "I was planning to lie here and watch you. You do ever such a good job of moving our stuff," he declared brightly, sliding down a little so Anomen couldn't hit him again.

The Helmite rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation. "If you wish to live in my house free of charge, then I highly recommend you get up and _help_. Leader of the party you may be, but you are on _my _property now, so do me this simple courtesy?"

Behind him, Jaheira appeared at the doorway, gripping a pair of travelling packs. Whilst the druid seemed to have no troubles in transporting the party's affairs, the expression on her face told of her mild irritation. "Harrian? Move," she snapped, a little harsher than she usually would, before starting up the stairs.

The thief leapt sprightly to his feet, stretching a little as he glanced around him. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbled reassuringly, deftly catching the small chest Imoen threw to him from the doorway. "Where does this go?"

Normally, an adventuring party does not accumulate a vast amount of personal property; constant moving and constant travelling would make having a lot to carry too much of a hindrance. However, the Bhaalspawn's party was quite different, for they had spent most of the last month within Athkatla, doing little travelling. Their one trip outside the city, to Trademeet, had not required them to bring all of their affairs with them, and as their stay at the Five Flagons had permitted them to live comparatively normally, Anomen's vast house had many personal effects of his party to fill it.

"You may have the master bedroom, Harrian," Anomen told him as the two men climbed the stairs, laden with Imoen's travelling trunks. In her endeavours to replace all that had been lost in the dungeons of Irenicus, the pink-haired mage had gone a little over the top in purchasing new belongings.

"That's yours by rights, Anomen," the thief replied easily. "As you said, I may be party leader, but this is _your _house."

The Helmite shook his head. "Believe me, my friend… I don't want that room. I shall be happy in my old room." He looked at the pile of packs, trunks and chests that had been abandoned at the top of the stairs. "Jaheira can have the guests' room, Minsc the servants' quarters – it should be large enough – Haer'Dalis the butler's room, and Imoen…"

He narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at one of the doors on the far side of the corridor. Harrian glanced curiously at him, but said nothing as Anomen stepped forwards to open the door to his sister's old room.

He didn't know what to expect. It would be hoping too much for the room to be intact, for it to be just as Moira had left it, but deep within his heart… he wished it would be, wished it would be untouched and timeless. Then he would have to take it apart, for he could not leave the room as a shrine to his sister forever, but at least… _he _would be the one doing it.

The room he stepped into bore no trace of his sister. The room was stark and bare, devoid of any personal touch. The belongings that were usually scattered so randomly around the room were gone, although the corner of a chest poking out from under the bed suggested their whereabouts. Cor had removed his house of any trace that his daughter had ever lived there.

This did not hit Anomen as hard as he had expected, merely slightly enhanced the dull pang in his heart that had remained there since he had heard of her death. He turned around to see Harrian's questioning glance. "Imoen can have this room."

* *

Two hours later, affairs were neatly stowed in their respective rooms, a hurried search for a new housekeeper had been successfully undertaken, and the house itself looked a little bit more as if it had more than a dying old man living in it. The large Delryn estate could quite comfortably hold six adventurers, but they were six adventurers who would not have the time to do the cleaning or dusting. At least, not when their quest to the Underdark commenced, which could, granted, take some time.

The six of them were gathered at the great dining room of the Delryn estate, feasting on a meal hurriedly cooked by Anomen and Imoen out of the remnants of their supplies. As always, it took the form of a stew, though the existence of an actual kitchen improved its quality.

There was a slightly evil air to the atmosphere. Harrian and Jaheira both sat lost in their respective thoughts, and so the majority of the conversation at the table was carried by Imoen and Haer'Dalis… which left Minsc lost in confusion at the rapid, complex banter and Anomen sulking as usual.

Thus the knock on the door was a most welcome diversion from the rather surreal conversation about the arts that seemed to overwhelm everyone not taking part in it, and Anomen leapt gratefully to his feet. "I shall… take… that…"

The cleric stepped out, hurrying towards the door. The weather in Athkatla had been foul for the past week or so, and this was one of the few nights it had not rained. So he was quite surprised to see how heavily cloaked the figure standing at the door was.

"May I help you?" Anomen asked cautiously, his hand going secretively for his mace, which he had set by the doorway. Experienced adventurers would never be foolish enough to sit down to dinner, even in a comparatively safe haven as this house was, without their arms close at hand.

The cloaked figure nodded, and it was only then that Anomen spotted the other four individuals lurking behind him. The cleric started to get a sense of déjà vu. "Lord Delryn… I would be most grateful if you could fetch the Lady Jaheira. I would like to have a word with her." A hand was raised, and then Dermin Courtierdale removed the hood that hid his head.

Anomen frowned slightly, grabbing his mace firmly and keeping it hidden behind the half-open door. "I'm afraid she's indisposed at the moment. Terribly sorry. Perhaps you could come back later." He gave the door a forceful push, intending to slam it shut in the Harper's face then rouse and warn the others.

A booted foot made this motion impossible. "I really must insist," Dermin pressed, then gave the door his own push. Anomen, who had not been expecting either the block or the counterattack, was unfortunate enough to be caught in the face by the sturdy oaken door, and was knocked back into the wall, his grip on his mace weakening. Stunned, he staggered before sliding slowly to the floor, conscious but with blurred vision.

The arrival of the Harpers was not as secretive as their leader had perhaps intended, for they had barely entered the house before they were confronted with a fully armed, if unarmoured, group of peeved adventurers, Jaheira at the head, her scimitar twirling dangerously.

"Dermin! I would speak at you!" she snapped venomously, glaring daggers at her former mentor.

Courtierdale gave her an evaluating look as he calmly drew his own longsword, his companions similarly readying their weapons. "As sharp-eyed as ever, though your choice in companions has not improved," he mused, his voice light and lyrical. "Is your treachery not enough that you must consort with a killer? I thought you better than…"

"Shut up! I said I would speak _at _you!" Jaheira snapped, interrupting him. "This matter is finished! I will not acknowledge this again! If you press it I will be forced to deal with you!" she threatened.

Dermin raised an elegant eyebrow, then smiled curiously. "As you were 'forced' to deal with the Harpers that died in Athkatla?" he queried scathingly.

"Yes, actually, and you well know it! Galvarey was no true Harper. His actions betrayed him, and all those that followed him!" Jaheira exclaimed, her anger getting the better of her. Beside her, she was only vaguely aware of Harrian readying a throwing knife and Imoen notching an arrow to her bow. Indoors was not the best environment for this fight, but they had no choice.

"The garish Hold, his political agenda; he was merely using the weight of the Harper name to promote himself. Tell me: what did he offer you?" Jaheira continued, raising her sword to a defensive position.

"You don't know what you are saying, Jaheira," Dermin's tone became almost piteous. "Your association with this… Harrian has poisoned your judgement," he added, waving almost aimlessly at the irritated swashbuckler.

"Hardly an association," Jaheira mumbled under her breath, giving Harrian her own hurt look. "But if you insist on calling it that, then I suppose I am the better for it. I have followed the spirit of the Harpers, which is more than you have done; you are more traitor than I am, as others would agree if they knew of these events."

"The others do _not _know of these events," Dermin explained, shrugging. "All they know is that you are responsible for the murder of Harpers, and powerful, important Harpers at that. They have no reason to believe anything else."

Jaheira sighed. "Of course not. Despite the ambushes you will still be able to claim the moral high ground for your actions." Her tone was reluctant, beaten, and when she spoke next it was little more than a wondrous, weak whisper. "What happened to you, Dermin? I do not know you."

"One grows weary. We would have done good works, Jaheira, just from a more profitable perspective." Dermin's voice actually took on a slightly regrettable tone as he shrugged, shaking his head.

"At the cost of the innocents. That is always the way," Jaheira sighed.

The regret disappeared in a flash of anger. "Innocent?! Is that what you call Corias? But he is a child of Bhaal! Whether his nature is good or bad it will certainly be disruptive!" Dermin snapped, waving at Harrian again.

"I should hope so too," the thief interjected, winning a glare from both Harpers, true or false.

Jaheira glanced back at Dermin. "It certainly disrupted you. The innocents also include Harpers that have died thinking they were fighting for the right cause. Galvarey's cause. Your cause."

Dermin shrugged slightly. "Regrettable losses," he mumbled uncaringly.

Jaheira smiled a tight smile devoid of any humour and tinged with more than a little sadness. "As was yours, though I suspect you have been gone for years."

He returned the smile, though his was more condescending. "Ah, your wit is still the most dangerous trait about you, Jaheira. I told you to cultivate it." He gave a humourless chuckle. "Little did I know I would be on the receiving end one day."

"Save it, Dermin. I have no more guilt about facing you, or any other sent on this Fool's Crusade. You are the betrayers, not I. I know this in my heart." Jaheira spoke with absolute certainty, neither voice nor sword wavering.

Dermin looked away slowly, glancing at his own blade. He seemed to be lost in an inner conflict, lost in deep thought. Then he raised his head slightly to look at her, and a belligerent flash was in his eyes. "You'll pardon me if I have a look for myself!" he snapped, lunging forwards in a sudden attack that would have skewered a slower fighter than Jaheira.

All chaos then broke out. The lack of armour of the adventurers made their fighting styles more defensive, save Imoen, who had never relied on armour for protection. Her arrows flew swiftly through the air, turning the Harpers her comrades were attacking into pincushions, aiming deftly for the weak spots in their defences.

Although the Harper warriors were skilled, they did not have the vast experience of the adventurers, and sometimes were a little overzealous in their attacks. Whilst this technique could be seen as dangerous, the skilled defenders were able to turn this enthusiasm against them.

It did not take long for them to fall as Minsc ploughed into the midst of them, Warblade flashing as it destroyed an ancient and valuable painting that hung on the wall. The stunned Anomen, who had barely managed to clamber back to his feet and solidly whack a Harper on the head with his mace, could offer only a token complaint.

The duel between Jaheira and Dermin came to a quick halt from an attack of Imoen's, and the Harper warrior fell to the floor with little more than a grunt, a gurgle, and an arrow in the throat. The party had done an excellent job of destroying the foyer to the Delryn estate in little over three minutes.

Harrian sucked at a small cut on his forearm, glaring at the body of the Harper rogue who had inflicted it. "Next time," he mumbled, "I'm sitting at the dinner table in full battle attire. No more of this caught unawares rubbish." He glanced over at the others, who were slowly recovering, Imoen forcing a bloodied Anomen to drink a potion to tend to his broken nose. "Fun, hmm?" The Bhaalspawn continued dryly. Then he spotted Jaheira, staring numbly at Dermin's body.

"I did not want to do this," the druid whispered as he slowly walked over. "I did not. We are in the right, Harrian, but why does it still hurt?"

Harrian stared at her for a long moment, hesitating, then raised a hand and clasped her shoulder. She glanced at him, then slowly sidled out of reach. "People do not always want to see reason," the thief told her gently. "You do what you can…"

Jaheira shrugged with irritation. "Yes, yes, you do what you can, not what you… you want. The Big Little Book of Alaundo, right? Insightful," she spat venomously, taking him aback and filling him with more than a little shame as she turned and strode off angrily.

Harrian sighed, then turned to the others, trying to push the glare she had thrown him out of his mind. "So… what do we do about the bodies?" he asked, forcing a little lightness into his strained voice.

"Disintegrate, then scatter?" Imoen offered lightly, grinning at him in a way he knew she hoped would lighten his mood. It did nothing to cheer him up. "Sorry about the mess, Anomen… we'll tidy it up."

Anomen opened his mouth to make a reply, still groggy from getting a door slammed into his face, but he was interrupted by a final figure appearing in the doorway, as cloaked and secretive as Dermin had been.

"My, my, my," the figure spoke lightly. "When I had been told I could find you simians here, I had somewhat hoped that your standards had risen in the time I had been away. Evidently I was wrong. You are still just as capable of making a mess of even the highest class part of town." Edwin Odesseiron looked up slowly, the candles shedding a little light on his cowled face. "I've been told you need a skilled mage?"


	90. Follow My Leader

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AN: Yes! Edwin! Cower! And come on, he's a great character. Was I the only one who found his arrogance endearing? I suppose I found Anomen's arrogance endearing too, so hmm… But anyway, Edwin is now number 7. And he's staying, unless I get bored of him. Next chapter comes the promised jump ahead, and the leisurely part of the story has come to an end…

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Chapter 90: Follow My Leader

Worn, tired, and some slightly injured, the party still managed to gather around a table in the lounge of the Delryn estate, ready to be attentive in the face of the unexpected help from unexpected quarters that came in the shape of Edwin Odesseiron.

Harrian eased down in one of the larger, comfier chairs before sliding a mug of some of the finest Maztican coffee Anomen had in the house across the table towards the Red Wizard. "So, Ed, tell us… how'd you sort out the sex change?"

Edwin glared daggers at the swashbuckler, but accepted the drink anyway. "When one reaches my level of absolute perfection of intellect, it is but a simple matter to correct minor problems. I dealt with it myself… no thanks to you and your pack of trained monkeys."

Minsc, who was gripping the table so hard his knuckles had turned white and Anomen looked fearful that he might break it, glowered at the mage. "Enemy of Dynaheir," he growled unhappily. "You did not deserve to be turned back!" He paused, his expression clearing as an idea slowly burrowed through to his brain. "As a woman, it would not be courteous for Minsc and Boo to administer the butt-kicking you thoroughly deserved. Now you are a man again, we have no such trouble," he continued cheerily, leaping to his feet and snatching Warblade up.

Edwin stood hurriedly, ready to jump out of the way of the over-arm swing of Minsc's that would surely split him from head to toe, but in the face of the berserker's wrath it was unlikely he could be speedy enough.

One person who was close enough and speedy enough, however, was Harrian. The swashbuckler darted forwards, standing directly in front of Edwin, directly in the path of Minsc's sword, and folded his arms casually.

Angry and vengeful Minsc may have been, he was still in as much control as the ranger ever was, and he managed to divert his blade enough that it didn't so much as brush past Harrian. The great two-handed sword moved past harmlessly, hitting the floor at a tremendous speed and imbedding itself in the floorboards.

There was a long silence, one only broken by a pained yet resigned groan from Anomen, and a deep, relieved sigh from Harrian, who stepped forwards and grasped one of Minsc's arms. "No, Minsc. You can't hurt him. We need him."

Anomen frowned slightly, shaking his head as he watched a flustered Edwin regain his composure and sit back down again. "Although I must object to making the Red Wizard _another _stain on my floor, I agree with Minsc." He glanced at Harrian. "There are other wizards, my friend. More trustworthy wizards. You would rely on this Thayvian to aid us? It is not safe. Send him on his way."

"I agree," Jaheira spoke up, folding her arms across her chest and glaring a little accusingly. "We have seen first hand twice now how he cannot be trusted. He tried to trick you once, and if the Nether Scroll had been the artefact granting immense power it was supposed to be, he would have betrayed you before. And you are willing to place all of your hopes in this man?"

Harrian ignored her, returning to his seat and looking at Edwin. The Red Wizard seemed a little taken aback by the intense objections to his presence, but not altogether too surprised. "Edwin. I assume you encountered Tellis, and he told you we needed a powerful mage. Why did you return to the city?"

Edwin straightened up, looking a little defensive. "Unfinished business," he replied stubbornly. "As you may or may not have noticed, I was quite firmly involved in the Shadow Thieves when I had my… unfortunate encounter with you. I needed to sever ties, and deal with loose ends." He smirked a little smugly, raising an eyebrow. "Then I heard that you needed assistance for something that is supposedly… very interesting."

Anomen snorted. "He probably came here to wreak petty vengeance for something that wasn't even our fault," he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he sipped his own drink tightly.

Harrian ignored him. "I assume you've been told what we need a skilled mage for. We need to get to the Underdark, but obviously can't do so by conventional means. The sort of power such a teleportation would need is… rather beyond us. Now, I may hate you. I may think you're scum. But I also know that you're a damned good wizard, and better than most we could hope to find. Be honest and straightforward with me for a moment. Such an undertaking is huge, and takes someone with certain skills and talents. Can you do it?"

Edwin considered this for a moment, actually looking deeply serious. It seemed that, now they had got down to business and were working on the terrain he was most comfortable at, his constant arrogant air faded a little. "It shall take time. A considerable amount of time, especially as the method shall need to be decided upon. But it can be done."

Harrian smiled tightly. "That's good. How much time are we talking, though? We're on something of a clock."

Edwin shrugged. "Despite my intense brilliance, I am quite unable to offer a perfect projection of a task I have had all of an hour to consider. Still, at a vague, yet educated and skilled estimation, I would surmise that it shall take approximately one month to perfect the spell. Or possibly build the necessary portal…" His voice trailed off and there was a moment of silence as the six party members stared at the Red Wizard, watching his eyes gaze over as he drifted into contemplation.

Harrian raised an eyebrow, then turned to the others. "We're going for it," he told them firmly, in an authoritative tone none of them had quite heard him use before, as it almost rivalled Jaheira's no-nonsense manner. "We shall use Edwin."

There was a cacophony of complaints from the corner where Jaheira, Anomen and Minsc were seated, including a few random squeaks from Boo. "This cannot be done!" the Helmite declared at last. "I would rather walk into the Underdark by myself than trust this Thayvian!"

Jaheira nodded. "He will lead you astray, Harrian. You could well doom us all by placing your faith in a Red Wizard. Trusting him is absolute folly, for he is certain to betray us whenever it suits him. Rethink your –"

Harrian stood quickly, almost upsetting the table in his haste and anger. "I have asked _none _of you to stand by me in this!" he barked, seemingly darker and taller in his fury. "I shall make what decisions I will to reach my ends, and to the Hells with you if you disagree! This is _my _task; you are only here because you said you would stand by me! Anybody who does not trust my judgement, anybody who refuses to follow my lead on _any _matter has the right to walk out now, or, for that matter, at any moment down the road!"

There was a grim silence, broken only by a slightly smug sigh from Edwin. "I believe he is your party leader, so you would do best to follow him," the Red Wizard declared victoriously, smirking a little.

"Shut up," Harrian growled, moving to pace in the corner.

Jaheira shook her head. "Harrian, we will stand by you on your quest; you know this. But trusting him is madness. You know as well as I do that your judgement when it comes to putting faith in people can be… flawed, but –"

"I put my faith in you. It seems that was evidently flawed," the swashbuckler snapped, turning around to glare at her. She didn't falter, and there was a moment of silence as two strong wills clashed tautly. "Stop treating me like a child. I don't need your guidance any more; I _can _live my life by myself. I don't need you to hold my hand every step of the way."

He turned to glower at Anomen, who wore an unreadable expression. "_You _can stop being a pious, pompous git. There are times when I don't know what to make of you, Helmite. You can stand by me one moment, swearing utter, utter allegiance, and then walk off when the pressure's placed directly on you. I figured it would stop when you abandoned the Order, but it hasn't. You've left that group of pompous paladins, but you're still trying to play knight. You're not a knight. You dropped out, by your own decision. Start acting like it. You can't go back, and I'd wager you wouldn't actually want to, but you're behaving as if you're waiting for the Prelate to suddenly pop up and say 'here's your knighthood back, sorry about being a pain in the arse'. Sort out your head before you start trying to fix mine."

Harrian whirled around to face Minsc, still wearing a mask of fury. It faded as he looked upon the mildly befuddled ranger, and the thief knelt down before him, clasping his friend's hands. "Minsc… trust me. You know you can trust me, right?" He glanced up at Boo, perched on the Rashemani's shoulder. "That goes for you too, Boo. Have a little faith in me as I put faith in him."

He straightened up, regarding them all. "This is _my_ quest," Harrian declared, giving Imoen a brief, discreet, sideways glance that also held thanks for her not intervening in the situation. "If any of you want to leave, you may do so now… or if Anomen wants to leave, he can chuck us all out of the house," he conceded.

Imoen stood up, smiling a little. "I never said a word back there," she said, her expression light and filling him with some hope. "You know I trust you, Harrian. Even if it means we have to trust… Edwin." The Red Wizard looked a little indignant, but said nothing. "I don't even need to tell you that I'm with you all the way."

"You don't have a choice," Harrian replied, then, as her expression froze slightly, he covered for his mild blunder with a bright and joking smile. "Thank you. At the very least, we'll do the Underdark together."

Haer'Dalis leaped to his feet to stand next to Imoen. "My raven, this is a tale that shall be, at the very least, the essence of ballads! It would be foolish for any bard to give up on such an opportunity." There was a pause as he felt all eyes on him, then the tiefling bowed his head slightly. "My blades are yours, my raven. You have done this much for me; it is only fitting that I repay the debt."

Minsc stood quickly, hurrying over to enwrap Harrian in a hug that left the thief almost unable to breathe. "Minsc will stand by you with blade and boot!" the giant ranger declared brightly, pulling back to allow the Bhaalspawn to rub his bruised ribs. "I trust you, Harrian. Even if we must trust this bad wizard. Boo says that the ends shall justify the means. I have no choice but to agree."

Harrian patted him lightly on the shoulder, struggling to breathe a little. "Uh, thanks, Minsc. I think," he mumbled, then turned to the other two, who were still seated. "And you?" he asked them lightly. "What of you?"

Anomen stood up slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Whilst trudging down to the deepest depths of the Underdark has never been one of my lifelong ambitions, and the idea that we shall be doing so courtesy of the magic of a Red Wizard does not make me warm to the prospect, there are things to take into account." The cleric shrugged, his usual small, slightly arrogant smile crossing his face. "Such as friendship, and loyalty. I have never forsaken you before, Harrian; I am not about to start doing so now. I swear that, in Helm's name, I shall see your task completed. Even if we have to go to the very heart of the Abyss for it to be done."

Harrian smiled brightly at his friend's words, and clapped him firmly on the back. "It's good to hear that, Anomen. This would be a hard task without you by my side," he declared resolutely.

Then his eyes flickered over to Jaheira, who had slowly clambered to her feet. "You have stood by me so far," he murmured to her quietly. "You have walked with me many distances, through many perils. I won't hold it against you if this is where you draw the line. Don't stay for promises made to Gorion; you've already fulfilled them completely. Stay… if you want to stay."

The druid stepped over to him slowly, softly… then gave him a slap around the head. "You are suggesting that I would turn my back on you now?" she demanded imperiously, incredulously. "Don't be an idiot, Harrian. I've come this far; I can't very well turn back. Besides…" Her expression softened a little, and he felt his stomach flip over. "There is still much to be done. Much to be decided."

There was a long silence as they stared at each other for several minutes, broken only by the small, slightly impatient clearing of the throat from Edwin. "I hate to interrupt this… touching moment," the Red Wizard started slowly. "But am I allowed to just ask what's in this little endeavour for me?"

Harrian paused, then glanced over at him, considering this for the moment. "An opportunity most mages would die for," he started slowly. "A chance to enter the very heart of the drow cities and witness their arcane wonders. You get half of the treasures we can find. And you can poke at whatever Underdark mysteries you wish, as long as it doesn't get us all killed…"


	91. Hop, Skip, Jump

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AN: Right! The long-expected hop ahead in time! I know much of this may seem overwhelming, because it's a big leap of one month, but very little, ultimately, has taken place. That which has shall be explained. And don't moan at me for not going through the entire month -–it would have taken up another eighty odd chapters just to write it all, which would have completely disrupted the story flow. As I promised, when I'm done with this I'll write a 'Deleted Scenes' (probably including some inane and ridiculous 'blooper' scenes purely for my own silly enjoyment) which will include this month, along with things such as the Outer Planes quest and anything in the future which gets 'cut'. Enjoy.

On another note, the party has changed somewhat. I know it's quite pointless for those of you that have been paying attention, but this is how it stands right now:

Harrian: Neutral Good (though with distinctly Chaotic Neutral tendencies now his soul is gone) Human Swashbuckler. Single-wields Daystar, or, on occasion, Dual-wields Daystar and Peridan. Wears Shadow Dragon Armour.

Jaheira: True Neutral Half-Elven Fighter/Druid. Dual-wields Belm and Rashad's Talon. Wears Darkmail.

Minsc: Chaotic Good Human Ranger. Wields Lilarcor. Wears Red Dragon Armour.

Anomen: Alignment changed slightly. He's not LG, because he left the Order and he's blatantly… not, nor is he CN, as he left the Order of his own accord and isn't bitter. It's not right to leave him as LN, either, for his utter devotion to the laws has obviously faded. So I'm going to tentatively label him as N/CG. Any comments? Anyway, Human Fighter/Cleric. Wields Flail of Ages, with Delryn Family Shield. Wears Doomplate (I know, _I _know_, you get the Doomplate in Spellhold. This story doesn't go to Spellhold! Anomen needs _something _special!)_

Imoen: Neutral Good Human Thief/Mage. Wields Staff of the Magi. Wears Robe of Vecna.

Haer'Dalis: Chaotic Neutral Tiefling Blade. Dual-Wields Entropy and Chaos. Wears Bladesinger Elven Chain.

Edwin: Lawful Evil Human Conjuror. Wields Staff of Air Control. Wears Robe of the Evil Archmagi.

Mija, I know _you don't like Edwin. I suggest you read Laufey's 'In the Cards' at the Attic (_www.gamejag.com/Attic)_. He'll grow on you. Right now he's obnoxious, but he's had no chance to develop. Unfortunately, I don't think this story will be turning him into a woman. Time constraints._

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Chapter 91: Hop, Skip, Jump

Bhaalspawn swashbuckler Harrian Corias threw open the door to the estate of Lord Anomen Delryn, priest of Helm, and marched in ceremoniously. It was bright outside, the sun shining in the fair weather the city of Athkatla had enjoyed for the past fortnight, and beams of light streaming through the open windows made his dark leather armour, fabricated from the scales of a Shadow Dragon, glitter slightly.

He strode into the lounge of the estate and threw a sack onto the table in front of the four people seated there. "Slavers are done and done," Harrian declared brightly, adjusting his armour and fiddling with his sword belt. On it hung the Daystar, still his weapon of choice, but strapped to his back was the fine blade of Peridan, the Dragonslayer, ever ready for a situation when a second, or possibly backup sword could be needed.

"Indeed!" the massive shape of Minsc, berserker ranger from Rashemen, bellowed from behind Harrian. "No more shall those evil men hurt or imprison innocent children! The righteous butt-kicking was administered, and all slavers shall see that to imprison others is to invoke the wrath of Minsc and Boo!"

"Hendak was most pleased, and I'm pretty sure this means that our banning from the Copper Coronet is over," Harrian continued brightly, sitting down in an overstuffed chair. "All of the former slaves have been given means to support themselves, one way or another, and life for them should hopefully carry on, even though many are a long way away from their former homes." He smiled slightly, more quietly content than exuberantly gleeful, and folded his arms across his chest. "Plus, we found a nifty trinket in the sewers."

"Trinket? Who're you calling a trinket? Can a trinket devastate vast armies of enemies like I can? I don't _think _so, buddy!" The source of this odd voice seemed to be from somewhere over Minsc's shoulder, but as the other party members looked around to see, there was nobody there.

Harrian grinned broadly again and stood up as Minsc unsheathed the massive, and new, two-handed sword that had been strapped to his back. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Lilarcor, the newest member of our party," he declared, placing his hand on the shining blade. "I have encountered many magical swords before, but none have been able to speak. He's… quite a character."

"A character? I should think so!" Lilarcor 'spat' with a tone of derision in his voice. "If _you'd _been stuck in a sewer for god-knows how long, I think you'd have been a little bubbly when you got free! And I'm so rusty! Metaphorically speaking, I mean – my blade's as shiny as it's ever been. Still, I'm getting better – we laid into those slavers like a hot knife through butter! Phew! Crazy!"

"We also collected quite a bit of gold from the slavers. We offered to give it over to Hendak, but he said that we should keep it; take something for our efforts. I would have said no, but we _do _need something to live off." Harrian sat back down again and regarded the others. "So, what happened to you? How did the encounter with Sir Sarles go?"

The other four members of the party had clearly only just returned, for they were fully kitted, as he was, and looking quite flustered and tired. There was an air of weariness about them that could only come from having been in a fight. Anomen's Doomplate had drops of blood on it, adding to the already slightly crimson tint of the armour.

The weary cleric shrugged and shook his head, reattaching the Flail of Ages to his belt. The weapon had been given to them by Lady Nalia de'Arnise as her thanks for their clearing her family home of trolls. The job had also come with a hefty fee, even though Nalia's father had perished during his imprisonment. The young noble, so as to escape being forced into a marriage with the loathsome Isaea Roenall, an aristocrat some of the party had encountered before, had subsequently fled Amn to start a fresh life for herself. Newly redeemed Harper Jaheira had pointed her in the direction of a few former comrades who might have been able to help Nalia in her quest for a new cause.

The past month had been kind to Anomen. Whilst he had taken part in his share of the party's adventures, he had also had more time to spare to devote to his clergy and his new status as Lord Delryn. The formerly confused cleric was now settling down a little more, accepting the harsh times his family and the Order of the Most Radiant Heart had put him through, finding his place in life.

Yet his position within the party had become increasingly unclear. Divides were arising, leaving Anomen in something of a corner. Harrian had become more withdrawn, talking privately almost solely to Imoen, and whilst he still talked to the cleric, gone was much of their camaraderie of the past. Imoen, similarly, spent most of the time she wasn't talking to the party leader talking to Haer'Dalis, another matter which set off Anomen's discomfort. Jaheira had become also withdrawn from the group, though had increased in dedication and determination to see the quest through, which cemented her standing in the company. Anomen _had_ found himself bonding a little with Minsc, though this was a friendship that was limited in depth, unfortunately. Thus, he was questioning himself and his position. Whilst he could not, would not, and did not want to leave the party as it embarked on a massive quest, he knew he would have to think very carefully about his future, about the long-term. And he doubted it was with an adventuring party.

"Sir Sarles is an irritating, stuck-up, pompous buffoon I was most pleased to aggravate," Anomen told Harrian at last. "We have kept the illithium. Your good friend Cromwell says he may be able to construct an interesting weapon out of it; I suggest you talk to him later about that. We offered Sir Sarles that false illithium offered by the blacksmith, and he unfortunately saw through it. The temple is mildly displeased, but it is preferable to him giving his services to a different church." The cleric seemed surprisingly calm about this turn of events.

Harrian raised an eyebrow. "Illithium. Interesting." There was a brief pause as he regarded the piled metal that had been dumped ceremoniously in a corner. "Any… erm… ideas as to just what Cromwell will do with it?"

Jaheira leant forwards slightly, mimicking his facial expression. The druid had become happier in the three weeks since Elminster had arrived and declared that she was more than pardoned for her actions against the Harpers, and much of her dejected manner had faded, but there was still a melancholic air about her. The Harper pin she wore with pride was firmly attached to the Darkmail chain-shirt she wore, and the pair of vicious scimitars from Trademeet strapped to her sword-belt helped speak of how the party had developed in the past month.

"Illithium is mostly used for the enhancing of current weapons. If we were to coat a hammer or mace with it, for example, it could become more powerful. Potentially, even a blade could be forged or enhanced from it. If there is anything we need strengthening, or any weapon we could make use of, I suggest you use it for that," Jaheira suggested in her usual tone, that which plainly said that if Harrian ignored her advice he would be a fool indeed.

"I'll take a look at it later," the thief said lightly, nodding, not managing to make eye contact with the druid as he glanced at the last two members of the party. "Imoen? Haer'Dalis? Did you manage to get your hands on those components Edwin wanted?"

Since he had arrived and agreed to help the group on its quest, Edwin had locked himself in the cellars of the estate, turning it into – much to Anomen's horror – his own private workshop. He had emerged only to collect food which he would eat down there, and to say what components or items he needed. Despite the fact that the party had had little interaction with him, for the most part – save when they had travelled en masse to the Umar and Windspear Hills, and had insisted on joining them when they visited the Planar Sphere – his continuous, if peripheral presence had become quite usual. Nobody particularly _liked _the Red Wizard, but his sudden arrival, usually accompanied by a random insult at a random person, acquisition of whatever item he needed, and subsequent quick disappearance, had become a part of everyday life at the Delryn estate. Yet nobody had a clue how much progress he was making on his task.

Imoen shrugged. Her slender body now wore the magnificent mage Robes of Vecna, rather than the slightly scraggy garments she had been wearing after leaving Spellhold, and in her hand she casually clasped the Staff of the Magi, prize from a rather unfortunate fight in a secret, unknown location they had stumbled upon in an incident involving Imoen, a Rogue stone, Anomen's armour polish, a ballad of Haer'Dalis and the disappearance of Boo. The 'Twisted Rune' had been quite quick to fall to the experienced adventurers, quite taken aback as they were. Minsc had made them pay for the apparent theft of his miniature giant space hamster.

"We got our hands on some of the scrolls he needed – though why he wanted a Protection from Evil scroll and some chalk, I'm quite unsure. If we find any weird diagram on the floor of the cellar when we eventually get in there, I'm not checking it out," Imoen declared, chuckling a little nervously. Anomen groaned theatrically.

Haer'Dalis smiled brightly. "Whatever the sparrow-hawk is up to, it seems he has made himself quite busy. For all of our doubts, if he has managed to succeed in his endeavours, I am quite certain that the result shall be… spectacular."

The tiefling bard was probably the only member of the party, save Minsc, who had not changed in the past month. Imoen had spent as much time with him as ever, but as she became more comfortable with the idea of who and what she was, their time alone had been spent less with confession and comforting, and more with increasingly entertaining pursuits. They had been to plays at the Five Flagons, visited the park of the government district, and generally taken part in leisure activities 'normal' people did in Athkatla.

"I have no doubt that it will be spectacular, Haer'Dalis, I am simply unsure that it will be the result we want or need," Harrian exclaimed, shaking his head as Minsc removed his armour, constructed from the scales of the Red Dragon Firkraag, and sat down on the massive couch. "I have faith that the Thayvian can produce the goods, but we _are_ running on something of a clock. Irenicus isn't going to take forever to –"

__

Boom.

A sudden loud, deafening noise, then perfect silence… or so it seemed. Even as Harrian watched the door on the far side of the lounge, leading to the steps down to the cellar, get blown completely off its hinges and go flying into the opposite wall, he couldn't quite hear the impact. His chair was overbalanced, he hit the ground with what had to have been a thud, then got the wind knocked out of him as Anomen landed on him, but all he could hear was a slight, distant, ringing noise.

Everything settled as the party members recovered from the sudden, unexpected explosion, picking themselves up off the floor and dusting themselves down. Harrian slowly realised that he must have been deafened by the explosion, and moved to reach within himself, tap into that small essence of his Bhaal heritage he found useful… but, as always, found only the dull ache of emptiness, and the hint of the Slayer within him.

A red blur shifted by the doorway, and Edwin burst from up the stairs, swatting at his flaming robes. What had to have been a mumbled incantation caused a small jet of water to emerge from his fingertips and doused the fire, then he turned and started to apparently speak. From the expression on his face, he seemed quite pleased with himself.

Harrian squinted, as if it would help him hear. "What?" he shouted, interrupting Edwin's monologue. Anomen grabbed him, lips moving, and before the swashbuckler could attempt to interrogate him too, a small flash of blue light enveloped him and restored his hearing.

"…fools, you were all fools for doubting me! Granted, there have been some unfortunate side-effects, but I have _done _it! What no mage thought they could achieve! I, Edwin Odesseiron, have built the one-and-only portal to the Underdark… although it is one-way. And I'd wager it would make you feel as if your insides have been turned inside out. But I have done it! Cower before my intense brilliance, monkeys! (though the vapid expressions on their faces suggest fish rather than simians. Hmm, I wonder…)"

Harrian stuck a finger in his ear, hoping the deafness would return. It didn't. Throwing Anomen a pained look, he took a step towards Edwin. "You managed to get us a route to the Underdark?" he asked tentatively.

Edwin smirked smugly. "Is that not what I just said?"

Harrian grimaced as he surveyed the damage done. The lounge appeared to be the only part of the estate, other than the cellar, that was affected, and even then the damage was minor. Granted, the door to the stairs was gone, and the furniture had been upturned and coated with a fine layer of plaster dust, but on the whole it was easily fixed. "I suppose so," he sighed, looking back at the mage. "But it's about bloody time."

Much had taken place since Edwin had been commissioned to construct the portal. They had battled dragons, taken on liches and beholders, defeated evil cults and confronted ancient enemies. They had become more powerful than they could have possibly anticipated, knowing they would need to hone their skills if they were to tackle the Underdark… and it seemed that this chapter of their quest was at an end. The waiting was over. It was time to step forth to the grim, hazy future.


	92. Dropping of Eaves

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AN: Sorry, sorry. Yes, I'm still here. No, Tide of Destiny is not over. I've just recently been struggling with January exams, and have been trying to get my smaller project, Those Who Harp_, finished. Once it is, and once I can _breathe_ in life (think from about Feb 15th, and half-term), I'll be returning to ToD._

For now, here is an extra-long taster of a chapter. Edwin's integrated, and here's a little something on everything we missed during a month out. Not much has changed, but things have… developed.

****

Chapter 92: Dropping Eaves

"Tents?"

"Check."

"Supplies?"

"Check."

"Supplies? That's a bit vague, isn't it, Harrian? What _sort _of supplies?"

"They're supplies; you'll eat them. Cooking equipment?"

"Of _course _I'll eat them, it's simply that you have a tendency to rely solely on the local wildlife to help supplement whatever supplies we bring. I don't think we'll be too inclined to dine on mind flayer when we're down there."

Silence.

"_Cooking equipment_?"

"Hmm? Ah, check. Imoen has a point, my friend. We don't know what we'll be confronted with down there. I _assume _that the Drow eat meat, but _what _meat is quite unknown. It would be foolhardy to assume that we shall find suitable supplies."

Silence.

"Extra supplies?"

"Ah, we don't –"

"Anomen's not going to say 'check', Harrian, so stop glaring at him. We'll get on it; do some shopping. I'm sure it'll be… lovely… to cart a deer around the Underdark with us. Maybe we can –"

"Shut up! In the name of all the gods, by everything that is unholy, will you all just _shut up_?" Edwin Odesseiron shrieked as he looked up from the slim arcane volume he was studying in a corner of the Delryn estate's lounge, his gaze flickering from Harrian to Anomen to Imoen, regarding them all with equal venom.

Harrian paused, frowning a little. "Ugh, alright. We'll continue this later; there are some other items I'm sure we don't have," he declared, waving a pathetic scrap of paper with his scrawl of a handwriting all over it in the air.

The new door to the cellar swung open noisily, and Jaheira marched in, looking, unsurprisingly, in a foul mood. She gave each of them a glare which seemed more for show than anything else, and there was a resigned glint in her eyes. "What," she breathed wearily, "are you all doing?"

Harrian shifted a little uncomfortably, pocketing the list. "Just checking we have everything in hand and ready," he replied, everyone else suddenly seemed to become interested in the wall decorations as his eyes met Jaheira's. "We're done for now. I'll just go… do… something," he finished weakly, before turning and hurrying out of the room.

Jaheira raised an eyebrow, a pained expression crossing her face for a moment until she slipped the mask back on and looked inquisitively at the others. "I assume you three were helping him check? Edwin, you look particularly productive with that book. I'm sure Harrian appreciated your help."

Edwin stood slowly, glaring back at the druid. "I have done everything that I have been contracted to do. In return, I get a free trip to the Underdark and all its secrets and gold. I confess, there are times when I rather wonder if this is a fair exchange, for it means I have to put up with all of _you_, but do not accuse me of not helping (at least their leader can stand to be in the same room as me without fleeing within seconds)," he declared, his final mutter not being missed by Jaheira, and he was rewarded by a momentary flash of emotion from her as he turned on his heel and strode out the door in Harrian's wake.

The Bhaalspawn was sitting on the stairs, staring into space as the Red Wizard emerged from the lounge purposefully. Edwin's appearance jerked Harrian back into the realms of consciousness, however, and he gave the Thayvian a considerate look. "You probably shouldn't have said that to her," the swashbuckler rebuked him quietly.

Edwin paused, not looking at Harrian, and took a deep breath to give his employer a piece of his mind as he turned around. The expression on the thief's face stopped him in his tracks, however, for the exceedingly dejected and defeated look rather made Edwin's venom turn sour.

The Thayvian shifted slowly, shrugging. "I think you, of all people, are not in a position to criticise others for hurting the druid's feelings," he replied dryly, still with a little sharpness in his voice as he regarded the thief.

Harrian paused, tilting his head a little as he considered this. "A fair point. But it was a rather harsh and unnecessary shot. You've seen much of this party in the last month; you know what we are like. Why do you delight so much in making trouble wherever you go?"

Edwin frowned a little. "What would you have me do? Stoop to your level and force myself to pretend to enjoy your company?" he scoffed with certainty. "Do not assume that I am another happy member of this dysfunctional family you have gathered around you, simian. My purposes are my own, for my own advancement, and most certainly do not take the feelings of others into account."

Harrian smiled infuriatingly at Edwin's words. "Ah, but I think they do," he commented quietly, standing up and stretching a little. "You say you do not care one jot for us, but what have you been doing the past month? Watching. You're an intelligent man, Edwin, and you've been watching us all, evaluating us all. Don't play apathetic with me; this has been your entertainment all the time you've been with us. Watching, interfering when necessary, pulling strings as it amuses you, and generally overseeing the entire goings-on of the party. You may not have formed any individual bonds with anyone in the group, but you know exactly what has been going on. You know how many, and which, plays Imoen and Haer'Dalis have seen together, and you know how much that infuriates Anomen. You know, and wish you didn't, Minsc's daily routine, including Boo's bath. You know… you know what to say to make irritate Jaheira and I when we find ourselves face to face. You know exactly what goes on in this group, and you try to keep things interesting."

Edwin shrugged, sighing a little. "And so you somehow believe that my interference suggests that I have a modicum of fondness for any of you?" He paused, leaning casually against the wall. "Once upon a time, my travels and my work took me to Chult. Quite a distant land, but I had my reasons for being there. During a moment's peace, I took some time to go on a trip to see the creatures of the land; something of a tour. They were exotic, and fascinating, and to see them going about their daily routines was quite entertaining." He paused, and gave one of his little smirks. "I believe several of these beasts were on the dinner table each night of that tour."

Harrian grinned yet again, incensing the Red Wizard no end as he turned and started up the stairs. "We'll see. You interfere for a reason – you care about the outcome. Whilst you may think this is solely for your entertainment, you can't deny that there is a bond; that you're already a part of this group."

Edwin glared at the back of Harrian's head as the thief disappeared up the stairs, irritated by his dogged determination in the pursuit of stupid ideas, then turned towards the corridor leading to the kitchen, hoping that there might be a chance to seize one of the cakes the cook had been baking earlier for the party's dinner that night.

This was a bid which quickly failed as he was unceremoniously hounded out of the kitchen by the shrew of a cook, winning little more than burnt fingers and a bruised ego. As he returned, he saw Anomen climbing the stairs, having doubtless been chased from the discussion with Imoen and Jaheira, and Edwin started towards the door to the lounge, hoping to continue his reading without the previous racket. As pieces of conversation drifted to his ear, however, he halted at the entrance, listening without even realising he was doing so, one eye to the small gap in the doors.

Jaheira was pacing slowly, her stance speaking of her irritation. "I don't see why you assume that this is a matter which can be dealt with after a handful of conversations and the twisting of some arms. This has been going on for a month. It is not about to stop now."

Imoen shrugged. "Of course it's not going to stop now; the two of you have barely spoken a word to each other which wasn't 'party business', and I don't think you've stood alone together in the same room since whatever the hell was going on that morning at the Five Flagons Quint turned up." A pause as glances were exchanged. "We _do _know what was going on that morning. It's been rather left unspoken what happened between you, but you've done an excellent job of trying to forget it ever happened."

"And I intend to carry on that way," Jaheira replied staunchly. "Harrian has made his stance on the matter quite clear; it was a mistake, plain and simple. There is no need to bring said mistake up on regular occasions."

Imoen frowned a little, brushing a pink lock of hair behind one ear. "I think you've told me many times that the way to deal with a mistake is to deal with it head on, rather than to try and forget about it."

Edwin could almost _hear _Jaheira's glower. "Child, this is a little different. We have quite learnt from this mistake, and we are not exactly about to repeat it, are we? Relations may be… strained… between Harrian and I, but we are still carrying on well together. Simply… once Harrian's soul is restored, and Irenicus has fallen, there is no need for me to carry on by his side. He was my charge, but he is quite old enough to live his own life now."

Imoen sat down, still plainly a little confused and challenging. "But once Harrian's soul is restored, won't the problem that's keeping you apart be gone? Besides, you know as well as I do that Harrian is simply doing what he does – gets all self-righteous and insists on carrying the burdens by himself; refusing to allow anybody else to infringe on _his _problems. Thinks he's helping us." There was a humourless laugh.

"It is not as simple as that, child. All matters have complications beyond what you initially see. I am sure that you and Haer'Dalis shall be encountering such problems within a short while; such is the nature of things." There was a pause as Jaheira smirked and Imoen shifted under the sudden change in the conversation.

"There really is nothing going on between Haer'Dalis and me!" Imoen insisted firmly. "You're becoming as bad as my brother with all of this, you know. He keeps on giving Haer'Dalis glares, acting all… concerned. As if he really has a right to direct my life. There's nothing for him to direct here."

"You'd think not, wouldn't you," Jaheira mused. "And at a glance, no, there are no problems. But future complications are already in sight. Take Anomen, for example," the druid offered lightly.

Although Imoen had her back to Edwin, he could imagine the frown on her forehead. "What _about _Anomen?"

Jaheira gave her an appraising glance, a look of surprise on her face. "You don't know?" she asked, her tone bemused and possibly with a slight touch of amusement. "You really don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Anomen is… well… he's Anomen. What does he have to do with me and Haer?" Imoen continued, still confused.

Jaheira stepped forwards and grasped Imoen by the shoulders. "You don't see the glares? The tension? _Look_, child. _See_, child. There is more to this than meets the eye. You shall call me an angel of doom, I'm sure, but I anticipate something marring this little hope you have now. However, it is quite likely that this is a blemish you shall be able to recover from, and emerge stronger than ever. If you look and see what could be to come." The druid turned, and started towards the stairs where she had come from. "And if you keep honesty in the forefront. Don't keep secrets from those who care about you. Because they _do _care about you, which is why those secrets will not make them turn away from you."

Edwin pulled away as Jaheira opened the door to the cellar and Imoen started to pace in the room, looking confused and lost all at once, doubtless wondering what Jaheira was talking about, and how she had worked it all out. Edwin, of course, knew exactly what Jaheira referred to, including the secret bit… for Haer'Dalis had a slightly looser tongue than the pink-haired thief liked to believe.

The Thayvian straightened his robes and started up the stairs. Where was that bard, anyway? Doubtless trying to have another pointless conversation with that obtuse Rashemani ranger and his pet furball. He had thought it amusing a few days ago to filch one of Edwin's more valued tomes, and he'd see the tiefling hang unless he got it back. Foolish extra-planar being…

The corridor at the top of the stairs was quite empty, both Harrian and Anomen having disappeared. Doubtless they had got together with the other two and were busy running a checklist on useless equipment to cart around the Underdark. In the face of their incompetence, Edwin had gathered his own gear for the expedition, not trusting them.

He paused as he passed what had once been the butler's room in the house, but was now inhabited by Haer'Dalis. A quick listen at the door assured Edwin that there was nobody inside, and he pushed it open and strode in, intent on retrieving his book, with or without the bard's permission.

The room was small and tidy, but elaborately decorated, with exquisite pictures and garish flags adorning the walls in true troubadour style. Edwin had expected nothing less from Haer'Dalis, but to be fair, he did not care about the decorating of the place. His eyes had settled on a small book that lay on the chest of drawers across the room.

Boldly he wandered over, grabbed it, and slipped it inside his robes, eyes furtive in the hunt for anyone who might dare appear and challenge him. He saw nobody, but, as he turned to go, began to hear somebody instead.

Two sets of footsteps – one delicately light, one moderately heavy. Haer'Dalis… and Anomen? Spitting a Thayvian curse under his breath as he heard the steps approach the room, Edwin darted into the bard's closet and buried himself behind the exotic clothes the tiefling had collected, pulling the door to.

"…I don't see why it is any business of yours, my hound," Haer'Dalis was saying as he entered the room, the Helmite cleric in tow. "It is not something that matters particularly to the integrity of the group, and if it did, does Harrian not have more of a right than you to be aware of it, as both leader and brother?"

"Foster brother," Anomen replied tersely, and as Edwin guessed the subject of their conversation, he smiled wryly at just how wrong the former squire was. "And just because I am not leader of the group does not mean that I do not have a right to know of any possible internal dangers there are, any unbalances or unexpected issues that could arise."

Haer'Dalis sounded amused, and Edwin could almost imagine the bard's entertained expression. "If any do arise, they shall not be your problem. Besides, I shall deal with them quite competently, I assure you." There was a long pause, Anomen's glare almost audible. "Do not try to fool me, my hound," the bard carried on at last. "It is quite evident that you want to know of myself and Imoen for your own purposes."

"That's preposterous," Anomen declared flatly, and, to his credit, did not sound _too _excessively in denial. "Why should I care what you and Imoen are to each other, or what you do in each others' company? It makes no difference to me."

Haer'Dalis laughed. "Then I need not answer your question, do I?" Edwin sighed with relief as he heard the door to the room open up, but grimaced in irritation as the footsteps came to a halt. "Or do I?"

Anomen sounded resigned, but particularly angry at the same time. "You enjoy this, don't you, braggart," he spat. "Be aware that I'm watching you, tiefling. I know you; I know what you are like. I know you will use Imoen for your own means and then dispose of her once you are done. I know that this shoulder to cry on is simply another role for you to play, then you will cast her to one side and hurt her." There was a dangerous silence. "If you cause Imoen any harm, I shall ensure that the pain you inflict on her shall be returned _tenfold_."

Haer'Dalis seemed particularly unimpressed by this declaration. "You read much into me, my hound! Surely there is nothing wrong with two young spirits enjoying life for a time, for a blink in life's eye? These are hard times and my wildflower needs comfort and company. I do not see you offering either of those things."

Edwin heard the cleric shift around, and whether it was an uncomfortable fidget or a threatening step forwards, he couldn't tell, for Anomen's voice was bland when he spoke at last. "You see the barrier between us. You erected this barrier." There was a long pause. "Fine. I shall leave you, tiefling. But I hope you keep my warning in mind, for it is not an idle threat. Use her, and I will kill you."

Edwin waited until he heard Anomen's footsteps fade off into the distance, then paused, anticipating Haer'Dalis' following. This didn't happen, however, for there was a small scatter of foot beats, then the door to the closet was thrown open noisily to reveal Haer'Dalis standing there with an amused expression. "My little sparrow-hawk, I did not know you had taken so kindly to my clothing!"

The Thayvian grimaced as he emerged, straightening his clothing. "I was simply retrieving the tome you so politely… borrowed yesterday," he retorted sharply. "Then I heard your conversation with the Helmite and decided to gracefully retreat, as it sounded as if he was quite willing to split your skull in two (and now I'm starting to wish that he indeed had)."

Haer'Dalis looked considerate for a moment. "Indeed, he did seem rather irate. I wonder why that is," he mused, sighing deeply. "He can be such a very tormented soul at times, our Anomen. His troubles often grieve me."

Edwin snorted. "Tiefling, I am not blind; I _am _quite aware of the situation. Although you both may have inexplicably developed a fondness for the excessively bright and bubbly, soul-deprived pink-haired one, this is not a matter which shall exactly bond the two of you for life."

He wasn't too sure why he cared about this situation, and he wasn't too sure if he did. He knew he was rather irritated by the tiefling's self-assured attitude, amongst other things, and rather hoped Anomen would lose his temper and actually grow a backbone. It was not that Edwin supported Anomen in this ridiculous pursuit of Imoen; it was simply that Anomen could be entertaining, could be baited, and could serve some purpose to making Edwin's stay with the party more bearable. Haer'Dalis could not, and was most certainly one of the reasons why the stay _was _so unbearable. Edwin would delight on seeing the arrogant bard taken down a notch by the slightly clueless cleric, and he ignored how hypocritical this desire was.

The blade grinned a slightly unnaturally broad grin. "You see much, my sparrow-hawk. Besides, 'tis not my fault if the lady finds my attentions more worthy than Anomen's. 'Tis an open gaming ground, and if he is not ready to set out on the hunt, then he can hardly blame me for pursuing my prey quite tenaciously." There was a pause, and Haer'Dalis cocked his head to one side as he regarded Edwin. "You seem to have settled in quite well with the party to be this aware of circumstances."

"_Too _aware," spat the Thayvian irritably. "I know too much of you people than pleases me. Anomen shall next go and sulk in his room, and will, of course, do nothing to enter the gaming ground you spoke of. Jaheira has just returned to the cellar, and will be scrutinising my work as if she actually knows of what she studies and could possibly find an imperfection in my creation (a delusional task at best). Imoen has just been shaken by the aforementioned Jaheira, and thus shall deal with this problem by completing Harrian's check-list for him. Harrian, meanwhile, shall be getting ready a _new _list, and thus will end up in an argument with Imoen, an argument she will win. Minsc is currently getting ready for Boo's bath."

As if on cue, there was a loud footstep from outside, and the sound of rushing water, accompanied by a deep yell and an indignant, high-pitched squeak. Edwin sighed.

"That would be Minsc tipping over the unnecessarily large tub of water for cleaning his rodent. Anomen shall emerge from his sulking, livid, and yell at Minsc. Harrian shall attempt to play peacemaker, an effort which shall be interrupted by the arrival of a soaking wet Imoen, who has benefited from water seeping through floorboards." Edwin sighed again, fixing Haer'Dalis with an impassive expression. "Do you wish me to go on, or have the depths to which I have sunk at the hands of this party become quite clear to you?"

Haer'Dalis grinned another unnatural grin, patting the wizard on the shoulder lightly. "My sparrow-hawk, you have not sunk to depths. You have simply become a part of this foolish flock of birds," he declared, then walked out to join in the delightful chaos.

Edwin sighed once more to the empty room, his eyes rolling skyward. He didn't know what to make of himself. 


	93. Deep, Dark

****

Chapter 93: Deep, Dark

Keldorn Firecam, retired paladin of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, looked dubiously at the massive but bizarre device that had been constructed by Edwin in the cellars of the Delryn Estate. It was a seven-foot high upright ring, with runes and other odd scratchings covering it. Keldorn knew much of the arcane arts – had had to for his work, as you couldn't ferret out evil magic without knowing of what you hunted – but most of what he was faced with here was quite beyond him.

"I assume it is not… activated… yet?" the retired Inquisitor inquired, slowly walking around the portal Edwin had built. He hesitated, then moved his hand in the inside of the ring, waving it slowly about, as if expecting something disastrous to happen.

Edwin rolled his eyes. "No, it is not, simian. And don't touch it – it is an extremely delicate and complicated piece of _art_. You might break it with your fumbling as you attempt to understand what is so vastly beyond your comprehension!"

Keldorn paused to glare at Edwin, his look so dark that the others were amazed the Red Wizard didn't just drop dead that very instant. "Just be thankful I am not joining you on this escapade, Thayvian, or you would not get away with being so impertinent in my presence," he spat, straightening up.

"People? Just take it easy," Harrian interjected from where he was perched on one of the desks in the cellar, his legs crossed, eyes closed, back to the wall. The cellar, which had once been primarily devoted to storing wine, had been massively converted for use by Edwin. Now only a few sorry barrels and bottles remained in one corner, as the rest was taken up by desks, work surfaces, rolls upon rolls of parchment with plans on them littered everywhere, a wall covered in shelves full of thick volumes and, of course, the portal itself in the very centre.

Harrian had been perched there for five minutes, not moving as the others brought the equipment down to the cellar, and they had presumed he'd dozed off. He opened his eyes at last, unfolding his legs, and groaned a little as he stretched, still seated. "What will it look like when it's activated? I assume you have a key so that not just anybody can use it."

Edwin straightened up, looking at Harrian huffily. "Of course I have a key! You think I would allow you simians to be able to simply charge in here and use my device without my consent? I am here because you have promised me _much_ by way of riches, and I will not let you cheat me out of them again!"

"Again?" Anomen echoed as he stepped down the stairs to the cellar, Imoen and Minsc in his wake. All three were laden with heavy packs, full of the necessary equipment. The group would have preferred to travel light, but considering the nature of their quest it would not be wise to risk being unprepared. "I do not recall our cheating you out of anything last time!"

Harrian chuckled dryly. "I believe our Red Wizard is referring to my kicking him out when he was in his little… predicament last time we met." He grinned cheekily.

"I was at your mercy! And you all abandoned me!" Edwin snapped, glaring. He had the sinking feeling that he was fighting a losing battle, but one which pride wouldn't allow him to retreat from.

"As far as I recall, you cheated _us _first," Jaheira reminded, appearing at the top of the stairs. Harrian glanced in her direction, his grin fading slowly at her arrival, but she did not so much as acknowledge her presence. "So I suggest we declare that we are all even, and work from there."

Anomen coughed lightly at the sudden tension that had settled on the room, and walked over towards Keldorn. "Sir Keldorn, I'd like to thank you again for agreeing to look over my estate during our absence. I hope it will not be for too long –"

"And I hope it won't be permanent," Edwin muttered audibly.

"…so as not to be too much of a bother for you. There is plenty of gold in the coffers to pay the servants, and all I ask is that you ensure the house is secure maybe once a week."

Keldorn smiled benevolently, nodding. "It is not a problem, lad. It is good to once again see this estate in good hands – the place went downhill under your father's supervision, and you have done well to fix things. I would hate to see your hard work go to waste to some brigand."

"Touching, paladin, though I suspect it would be because you have little else better to do," Edwin murmured, this time a bit more quietly. Fortunately, Keldorn didn't hear him, but Anomen did, and threw him a venomous look without passing comment.

Harrian sprang to his feet lightly, stretching again and spreading his arms out. "Anyway… are we ready to go?" he asked hurriedly, once again interrupting a confrontation. "We all got everything we need?"

"Yes, no thanks to you and your extensive lists," Imoen replied dryly, kneeling down and fiddling with the straps on her bag. "And I hope you have an idea of where we're going and what we're doing. You've been going on for ages about how you knew exactly what the plan was, but you do say that an awful lot."

The swashbuckler gave her a hurt look as he straightened up. "That would be because I know exactly what's going on an awful lot," he insisted unconvincingly, ignoring the snort from Jaheira the druid failed to stifle.

"Then I presume you know exactly where we are going and what our plan is," Edwin declared, smirking a little and folding his arms across his chest. "Because other than the location the portal takes us to – and I verified that it would suit our plans – I'm not too aware myself."

Harrian glowered at them, walking over to his pack on the floor and opening up one of the flaps. There was a second's searching, then he pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and waved it at them. "_This _is a map of the area surrounding the drow city of Ust Natha, gathered together from accounts of various adventuring parties. I had the priests of Oghma dig it up for me, which they did most kindly. I know what we're doing. It may change distinctly when we see the situation, as none of us can predict what it will be like down there, but _I know what we're doing_," he stressed.

There was a long pause as everyone looked at him with varying degrees of conviction. Harrian pocketed the parchment and shifted uncomfortably. "Where's that damned tiefling bard?" he enquired loudly at last.

"_To the deepest darkest depths we go,_

And what awaits us I don't know,

But for vengeance and what is just,

We do only what we must.

We stride in line, heads held high,

Shoulder to shoulder with each ally,

To hunt, to find a dangerous foe,

And what awaits us I don't know."

They all looked around as Haer'Dalis meandered down the stairs, singing quite casually, oblivious to their looks as he hefted his moderately light pack to the ground and smiled at the rest of the party, finally fixing his gaze on Harrian. "He doesn't either."

"Shut up, tiefling," the swashbuckler replied, a little sharper than intended. "And I thought I asked you to stop composing that damnable ballad? It was bad enough when you sang the bloody thing in Trademeet, but all this doom and gloom doesn't help right now."

Haer'Dalis considered this, looking quite pensive. "Hmm, doom and gloom, you say? Sounds particularly inspiring, my raven!" He threw an arm cheerfully over Harrian's shoulder. "Believe me, my friend, when I say that once our heroic quest is over and everyone tells tales of your exploits, my ballad will be sung in every tavern, as the definitive guide to your adventures."

Harrian shifted away slowly. "What if I don't _want _a definitive guide to my adventures? Besides, it's fairly presumptuous to assume all of that. I could die a nobody, and all your composing will go to waste." He smiled sweetly, then picked up his pack and swung it onto his back, looking at the others. "Are we all ready to go?"

There was a shuffle and a few grumbles – mostly from Edwin – as the party collected their affairs one last time, unconsciously lining up before him as Keldorn stood back, arms folded across his chest, grimly watching the goings-on.

Edwin shifted around in his robes before pulling out a long, gnarly and shiny golden stick and approaching the portal. He waved it over the surface of the giant upright ring, murmuring a few things under his breath, and stepped back as it shimmered to life.

The activated portal was an odd thing to see, for it seemed as if it was filled with water standing up in mid-air. The surface of the air rippled, a little like the air directly above a fire, and though everything was so distorted when you tried to look through it that no details could be made out, the darkness was quite apparent. Edwin didn't look around as he could almost _hear _the discontent running through the party.

Harrian stepped up as Edwin withdrew, peering at the portal in a slightly confused way. He quickly made his expression resolute and turned to the others. None of them looked happy. Jaheira had her jaw set in the way she always did when something was bad but she wouldn't complain. Anomen looked distinctly uncomfortable, Imoen had gone a little green, Minsc was consulting with Boo frenziedly and Haer'Dalis… well, the tiefling looked alright, actually. Positively curious, in fact.

The Bhaalspawn swashbuckler straightened up and looked at them all. "A month ago, I asked if you'd follow me. I'll understand if you don't want to go on now. Things have changed, and I'm quite sure –"

"Harrian, shut up," Imoen sighed, unhappy but resolute. "You'll give us the speech about not having to go along, and we'll go along anyway. We're in this with you to the end, so save us the self-sacrifice, okay?" Her nervousness had given her voice a bit of an edge, but her bright blue eyes spoke of her determination.

Harrian nodded slowly, grimacing. He glanced at Keldorn. "If we're not back in a month… uh, we're probably dead," he told the retired Inquisitor before looking back at the portal and taking a deep breath. "Right. Let's get this show on the road. Just make sure you all follow me on this one-way ticket, or I'm quite screwed," he mumbled, half to himself, half to the rest of party.

Then he jumped.


	94. Looking Inside

****

Chapter 94: Looking Inside

Harrian had expected the Underdark to be distinctly colder than it actually was. As the party trudged along, following his lead as he strode ahead, occasionally referring to the distinctly rough map he had acquired, he marvelled at his surroundings.

So few adventurers would brave the Underdark voluntarily. Though, he supposed, this was hardly voluntary – he had to hunt Irenicus if he wanted his soul back, if he wanted to fill the aching emptiness within him.

So he had come, and so he would pursue this to the bitter end, wherever it took him – even through environments as strange as this. The odd rocks which emitted a bizarre shining light so not all was dark; the weird shapes and looming caverns… all of it was very alien to him.

And he had expected it to be colder. Far beneath the surface, with the sun a long way away, he had expected to freeze. As it was, with his long cloak wrapped around him, he was starting to feel a little too warm. The air was humid and a little warm, and the constant moving didn't exactly help.

But he had to keep moving. The others were relying on him, and he was relying on himself. This had to be done. And he had to succeed, because he didn't want to even consider what would happen if he didn't. He had to keep moving.

Edwin's voice rose above the silence of the marching party; they had all slipped into that stage of inner reflection as the feet took over and the sudden jerking from their reveries took them all by surprise.

"Where," the Red Wizard demanded imperiously, the frustration evident in his voice. "Are we, and just where are we going? I am no expert on the Underdark, but it seems as if we're running around in circles. I could swear we've passed that rock three times."

Harrian glared at the Thayvian over his shoulder, but before he could retort, Anomen beat him to it. "Silence, cur," the Helmite spat. "You know not of what you speak. Harrian would not be leading us wrong."

Not noticing their leader's wince, Imoen nodded firmly. "Absolutely. And don't worry about the rock – I bet they're different rocks, but down here in the Underdark, there are an awful lot of them so I'm pretty sure some would end up looking the same. We're headed in the right direction, aren't we, Harry?"

"Don't call me Harry," Harrian muttered, then forced a smile onto his face and glanced back at her. "Yeah, I'm quite sure we are. But we've been going for a while now – what's to say we stop and have a break?"

This suggestion was met with some approving murmurs, and the party came to a stop, dumping their packs on the floor and settling down swiftly, Haer'Dalis pulling out his flask, Edwin finding a piece of fruit in his pack and devouring it quickly. With the ease of those who travelled much, they arranged themselves so as to recover the most energy for another march in the least amount of time.

Harrian deposited his pack on the floor, still standing, and glanced about them. He was quite certain that the Duergar encampment he was headed for was fairly near here. Quite sure. But he would do well to check.

He glanced at the others. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he told them casually. I'm just going to check up ahead, make sure that we're on course. It shouldn't be far now before we reach the encampment," he told them, heading off into the darkness before they could protest or even respond.

The others looked at each other blankly, their expressions ones of confusion. Jaheira pursed her lips. "Perhaps it is not best that he goes by himself. We do not know what's lurking in the darkness – we should stick together." She gave the rest pointed glances.

Imoen clambered to her feet unsteadily, ignoring her protesting muscles. "I'll go. I think he needs to unwind a notch too – you can see how tense he is," she pointed out as the druid nodded, then she turned and hurried off in the direction Harrian had gone.

At first, disappearing into the darkness but making a note of where she was heading, she couldn't see him. He couldn't have gone too far – where was there to check by way of direction? She didn't expect him to be more than a hundred metres away.

In fact, he wasn't, but he _was _lurking behind a small assembly of rocks nearby, seated on the floor, staring at the map in his hands and mumbling absently to himself, forehead creased with concentration. It was the mumbling which brought him to her attention, and she headed towards him, quite concerned. "Harrian?"

The swashbuckler looked up, folding up the map quickly and fixing her with a blank, pleasant stare. "Yes? Just checking on the map, you know… it's a bit vague in places – you can't expect them to make a perfect map of the Underdark – but it's quite good enough for our purposes."

Imoen eased herself down next to him, resting her back against one of the larger boulders, and tugged the map from his unprotesting hands, unfolding it quickly. What she saw on it made her throat constrict with fear, for it was little more than a few scribblings and some vague diagrams.

"The priests of Oghma weren't too obliging when I asked them for the map, so I had been left to my own devices in the libraries to get what I could," Harrian explained, his voice numb as he stared at her. "It was hard to find, and, as you can see, quite rough." He took it back, showing it to her and pointing out a few spots as he carried on. "You can see Ust Natha somewhere in the north-east, and this Svirfneblin city somewhere to the north. I want to go there if I can find it, because they might be able to help. There's not much more than that, other than the Duergar encampment. They should give us directions."

Imoen took a deep breath, peering at the map. "Harrian… according to this map, we're _in _the Duergar encampment," she whispered, becoming slowly aware of how the tension was getting to her brother, his dark, wide-eyed stare feeling like it was penetrating her skull.

"I know!" Harrian started to chuckle a little bit as he folded and pocketed the map. "And I don't know where we are! Ha! Me, the leader, not exactly knowing where we are… there's a wonderful irony there, if I can find it."

Fortunately, she could see the crease of his forehead and hear the wry tone in his voice which told her he hadn't completely lost it. She placed a hand on his arm. "Why didn't you tell us that you had so little? We would have searched more."

"You… you all had your things to do. And I'm supposed to do this. I'm supposed to know what we're doing, know how we're…" Harrian's voice trailed off miserably, and he rubbed his face, the fatigue evident in his movement.

"Don't be silly," she rebuked him gently. "We can do this. The encampment can't be found; we'll get them to give us some directions, maybe a new map, and we'll be on the way from there, move on with the plan." Imoen smiled sadly as she saw his expression, and she leant towards him conspiratorially. "You never know; the Svirfneblin might have a clue on what the hell we can do," she whispered.

He laughed quietly again, nodding, but there was an emptiness in his voice and his eyes which was unsettling. "We'll get this done. It can be done. Absolutely… it has to be done."

Imoen paused, staring upwards into the deep darkness of the upper reaches of the Underdark. "What else is it, Harrian? Why didn't you let us help you? Why, from day to day, do you seem to be slipping away?"

"Because I think I am," he whispered, eyes closed tightly. "As every day goes by, I feel as if a bit of myself is going; I feel as if I become less human by the second. And I can't stop it." He paused, taking a deep breath. "It's been a month since we lost our souls, and every day I feel the emptiness becoming bigger, consuming me even more. If I don't get my soul back, it will take me utterly." He paused, then frowned and glanced at her. "Don't you feel it too?"

Imoen sighed. "I do," she confessed, lowering her head. "I do. Every day. But not like you do, I don't think." There was a moment's silence as she gathered her thoughts. "It seems quite clear that the essence is stronger in you than in me; it was manifesting itself in you before I even had dreams or clues. So I think there's less of me which is empty in the first place, as the taint… the taint wasn't as prevalent in me as it was with you." Another pause. This time she knew what she was saying, but had to gear herself up to say it. "And I've been living this past month. I've been trying to fill my life. You haven't."

"I couldn't," Harrian replied, a little stubbornly.

"You turned Jaheira away, left Haer'Dalis and me to our own devices, paid Anomen only minimal attention. The only people you gave a moment's time were Minsc and Edwin; with Edwin it was business, and Minsc… Minsc is Minsc." Imoen looked firmly at him. "Why? Why are you holding us all back?"

"For protection," Harrian mumbled miserably.

Imoen laughed shortly, sharply. "You allow – no, _ask _us to follow you into the Underdark to hunt down an evil and amazingly powerful mage, and yet you won't let any of us get close to you for our _protection_?"

"Not your protection," the swashbuckler whispered hoarsely. "Mine." He took a deep breath as Imoen stared at him, shocked and confused. "You all looked to comfort me, to help me. You were almost tripping over yourselves to be scared but supportive after the Slayer. You all wanted to get inside my head and fix it."

He lifted his knees up to rest his chin on them, wrapping his arms around his legs. "I didn't want you inside my head," Harrian murmured. "That's why I pushed Jaheira away. She wanted to get inside, to comfort me from within, to fix it. In trying to help I was afraid she'd find deep, dark parts of me. It's not that I don't want her to see them – I mean, I don't, but that's not the point – it's that I'm afraid she'll find something I don't know is there, and she'll bring it to the surface." He closed his eyes tightly, and Imoen had to strain to hear his next words. "I can't cope with anything more."

There was a long silence as she squeezed his arm. "Let people in," Imoen told him quietly. "They fill up the emptiness inside. If you can –"

"Harrian! Imoen!" Anomen's voice rang out, echoing amongst the rocks, jerking Harrian out of his almost catatonic-seeming state and interrupting Imoen before she could possibly embark on trying to break her brother of his self-destructive ideas and mood.

Harrian stood up slowly, adjusting his cloak so it wasn't quite as stifling, and helped Imoen up. "I appreciate the help, Immy, but I'll be fine. Leave me be… please." He paused before heading out of the rocks towards where the rest of the party waited, looking concerned. "It's time to get back on track."


	95. Right Direction

****

Chapter 95: Right Direction
    
    Jaheira was starting to miss her quarterstaff. Of course, as the party had grown stronger and their foes become more formidable, she had needed to trade in her old, beaten 'stick' – as Yoshimo had once referred to it – for something a little bit more powerful. Enter the pair of enchanted scimitars they had picked up in Trademeet, but whilst they were fine weapons, they didn't help when marching long distances like a staff did.

Her feet ached, but she ignored it. Everyone was tired; Harrian had been having them march on at a hell of a pace as he led them, and still she waited for them to reach their destination. She didn't know what had happened between Harrian and Imoen when they had disappeared for a few minutes, but she did know that there was something going on here which she wasn't aware of. Again.

She could see in Harrian's eyes the strain he was under; the pain he suffered. He thought she didn't know – thought that _nobody knew_ – but she had known the Bhaalspawn for a long, long time, and doubtless knew him better than anyone save Imoen herself. But she could see his troubles, his hardships, and how, in trying to shoulder everything for everyone, he was slowly running himself down.

She wanted to reach out, to comfort him and to chase away the troubles, or at least bear them with him, but knew that such an effort would be rejected quite harshly. He was walling her out, slowly and methodically, and every time they spoke a new barrier was erected between them. And she didn't know how to pull them down.

So she waited, and she worked, and she stood by his side and picked up the pieces that he missed, and hoped he didn't notice whilst secretly praying he did at the same time. He thought he was shouldering it all, all of the burdens, but he let more slip off, missed more, than he believed. He didn't see that it wasn't him dealing with it because he didn't notice that it hadn't been dealt with.

Jaheira couldn't help Harrian openly, but she could work with him so as to keep him from collapsing entirely, as she could see such a thing was just around the corner. She could see how he was ready to fall, either to darkness or to insanity, and probably not even he knew just how fine the string holding him up was, how close to breaking it was.

She wasn't entirely sure why she stayed, why she carried on by his side. She felt quite alone in the party – Harrian wouldn't speak to her, Imoen and Haer'Dalis spent most of their time together, Minsc was hardly a great comfort, Anomen – who she didn't quite consider a close friend anyway – generally had more things to do, and she'd kill someone before socialising with Edwin. As such, she'd become quieter and much more withdrawn in the last month, using her own mind for refuge, speaking with Imoen when the mage had the time, tolerating Anomen's company if the priest wished to spend time with her, humouring Minsc when he approached her.

She knew she could leave. Bid the party farewell, return to the Harpers, attempt to patch together the currently unsteady terms she was on with them, live a new life, a new beginning. Nobody would think any less of her; nobody would criticise her for leaving the group after all she had suffered.

Except for herself. Jaheira had made a solemn promise to Gorion that she would stand by Harrian, a promise which had been fulfilled now the thief had proven himself quite capable of living his life without a guardian, but more importantly, she had made a promise to _herself_. Finding Harrian in Bodhi's lair, discovering what Irenicus had done to him, she had sworn to have his soul returned or die in the process, and that was what she was going to do.

It went more than keeping her word to herself, however. She _couldn't_ leave Harrian. It hurt to stay – every time she looked at him, it hurt – but she knew it would hurt more to walk away, hurt more to abandon him to this unknown fate. Hurt more to be without him, for when she was with him, she had hope. Not simply hope that he'd change his mind; it went deeper than that. But hope that she would help him find his soul, and he'd become the same man she remembered, the man who didn't have this darkness eating away at him every single hour. The man she had grown to –

Jaheira was jerked out of her reverie and perturbing train of thought by the group coming to a sudden halt, and slowly realised that, during her internal reflection, the company had somehow managed to navigate its way successfully to the Duergar encampment. Harrian was stepping ahead of the group, his cloak wrapped around him, standing as tall as his medium build would allow, which was fortunately still higher than the dwarves.

There were Duergar standing in the small encampment, and they broke from their discussion as the swashbuckler approached them, their expressions showing surprise at the arrival of a group of humans and demi-humans. One of them frowned a little, looking suspicious.

"Cor der noror rrin doth samman?" he grunted, staring at Harrian appraisingly.

"Ol raugh corl sargh? Xunder to thuldin sonn? Thuldul ol torst?" the other one chipped in, stepping forwards, hand going the axe on his belt and evidently noting the slightly worried glances exchanged by the group.

Harrian raised his hands hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I don't know your language. Do you speak Common? Can you understand me?" There was a pause, and he frowned. "We need some help… we were wondering if you could –"

"Gordul! Ta jarge!" the first dwarf spat, giving his companion a quick glance before glaring at the thief.

Minsc shifted uncomfortably, his expression one of deep contemplation. "Boo bristles at his words. I don't know the language, but he is insulting us for certain!" the Rashemani ranger declared with certainty.

Haer'Dalis patted him on the arm to try to calm him down, the tiefling looking distinctly amused. "Calm down, my hound and hamster. I don't know his words, but I must respect those who are willing to so flagrantly insult complete strangers!"

The first Duergar looked confused for a moment until he cleared his throat, a look of realisation crossing his face. "You must excuse my fellows. It is not often we encounter surfacers down here," he explained, voice still gruff but a lot less harsh than before.

His companion still looked suspicious. "Yes, very seldom. They do not live long," he mumbled, still fondling his axe lovingly and disconcertingly.

The first one shrugged. "Well, unfortunate things can happen in the depths, but we do not partake in such events. I am Carlig, a trader of sorts," he explained, smiling grimly and giving something which might have been another shrug, or might have been a bow.

Harrian nodded slowly, smiling a little. "I am Harrian Corias. We're here from the surface in hunt of two strangers that came this way… but it would have been a long time ago. I was hoping, actually, that you might be able to give us a map of the area, as the one we are using is quite poor… or possibly some directions about the area?"

Carlig considered this for a moment. "I haven't seen many strangers around here, and I talk to everyone. Well, almost," he explained. "Aye, we can probably get you our maps, or make some copies of our own. This area of the Underdark, being so close to the surface, isn't as untamed as some parts of the depth you surfacers might think, so it's not an unreasonable request."

They waited as the Duergar turned and disappeared into one of the tents, leaving his suspicious companion behind, who gripped the axe firmly and eyed the adventurers until Carlig returned, bearing a scroll.

"Those two creepy ones were back, Carlig. You remember, the neck-biter and the mage?" the Duergar said at last, after having taken a moment in deep thought, summoning up the memory.

"Oh yes, those two. Bad news, I would wager. I've seen them near the Drow city. Must be up to dirty dealings; those ol morogh dark elves don't usually let strangers live," Carlig replied grimly, shaking his head.

Harrian paused, staring intently at the two dwarves. "Irenicus and Bodhi! They're here?" he demanded incredulously, his eyes flashing for a moment. "They are the two that we seek. I knew that they would be near the Drow city…"

Carlig nodded. "Aye, but I wouldn't go charging in there if you like your life. If you want to get in, ask around; see if anyone knows a back route. Them Drow really don't like outsiders intervening…" He paused, shifting uncomfortably, then held out the parchment. "Here's your map, Corias. Fifty gold should do it. You might want to talk to the Svirfneblin in the settlement to the north for some help. They're eccentric and spineless, but they're from around here, so might know something."
    
    Harrian nodded, taking out a few coins from his pouch and handing them to Carlig. "Thanks. I intend to check it out anyway." He smiled as he unrolled the map, quickly checking, glad to see it was more precise than the one he'd got from the temple of Oghma. He turned to the others as the Duergar shifted away, returning to other affairs. "Excellent. We head north," he declared brightly.


	96. A Plea for Help

****

Chapter 96: A Plea for Help

Harrian now felt quite optimistic now, comparatively at least. The map he had bought from Carlig was quite precise, however it had been made, and rendered navigation in the Underdark a far easier task than it had been with the pointless scrap of paper from the library in the temple of Oghma, and he now had a vague idea of what he was doing.

This environment, was obviously, very alien to him. He didn't have a clue what he was doing, really, because he had no experience of the Underdark, no knowledge of how to act or how life went by beyond that which he had read in books. And although he'd been brought up in Candlekeep, the ultimate library, books didn't quite equal hands-on experience in this sort of situation.

And thus it made perfect sense to subsequently go to find those who had the experience he lacked. It was a pity those Duergar weren't of the area – though they had obviously been around long enough for their encampment to earn its own mark on the map; perhaps it was a regular camping spot for a nomadic group? – or they would have done the job admirably. He had gold, which was all they'd really want here, and as such had safe enough passage to gain their assistance.

But no, he would have to turn to the Deep Gnomes, who fortunately didn't have a reputation for hostility. Though, Harrian supposed, hostility was all relative when you were neighbours with a Drow city.

He also hoped that the Svirfneblin settlement could offer the party somewhere to stay the night, as he particularly didn't want to be sleeping out in the 'open' of the Underdark. Tales of mind flayers and Beholders and all manner of strange and scary creatures came to mind at this, and he didn't want to lie around, presenting a defenceless and tasty snack for some of them.

The party was flagging, he could see. They had departed from Athkatla in the late morning, and that had been about six hours ago – he couldn't tell for sure, what with the lack of the sun. Although this was not the heaviest march they had ever done, the oppressive atmosphere and tension within the group didn't help. Harrian predicted that perhaps a half hour's rest would have everyone refreshed and able to carry on, but it seemed unnecessary to pause when they were so near the Svirfneblin village and they could possibly hang up their equipment for the rest of the day and relax.

As they marched around a hulking rock bundle, a small, rickety rope bridge up ahead over a gaping chasm became visible. The slats were made of some mysterious substance other than wood, and the rope had come from an unknown source, but the bridge looked stable, and solid. What filled them with both confidence and apprehension was the small group of gnomes gathered around the near end of the bridge, evidently guarding.

One of them, a smartly armoured and helmeted one who was evidently the leader, detached himself from the group nervously, short sword drawn guardedly. "Edo, od golver d'tanyon! Da sugden os tera!"

"You know, I'm really getting kinda sick of all of this Underdark speech," Imoen muttered under her breath intolerantly, eliciting a small smirk from Harrian, which the swashbuckler tried to hide quickly so as to remain polite in front of the gnomes.

"Ah… uh, I don't quite understand you. Do you speak Common?" he asked, keeping his words slow, his stance easy and open, praying that, if they couldn't understand his words, they could at least see that his body language was unthreatening.

The leader of the guard visibly relaxed, though he didn't lower his sword. "Surfacers? What are you doing here? Stand and identify yourselves!" he instructed, and although his words were hard, the tone was a little blander as the speaker visibly struggled with the foreign language.

Harrian bowed his head slightly. "I am Harrian, and I assure you, mean you no harm. We are indeed surfacers, and we request assistance from you. Is their any way we could speak with the village's leader, or… whatever?" His voice trailed off weakly as he once again noted his own lack of preparation. For a moment he wished that they had brought Viconia, the drow they had freed from religious fanatics in Athkatla, along with them, until he realised that she would have probably merely created _more_ discord within the party. Not needed.

"Certainly you are not a resident of this place," the head of the guard replied, lowering his sword slowly and giving his fellows glares until they also lowered theirs. "Come here you should not, though… useful you may be," he continued, looking contemplative. "You may enter, but on your best behaviour be. Go and speak to the Lord of our fair granitehome. He will see to your wellbeing."

Harrian smiled as sincere a smile as he could muster with his mood darkened by the gloomy environment, and nodded gratefully. "My thanks. We shall not interfere or trouble you in any way, if we can avoid it," he replied appreciatively.

The group stepped gingerly over the odd bridge, and into the odd settlement beyond. Although there were certain aspects of the village which were distinctly gnomish, there was definitely an alien air to the place, one which was made even more disturbing by the fact that the settlement seemed almost abandoned, with nobody obviously out in the streets or even in the houses.

So they entered the first building they found which had any obvious signs of life in it, which was a fairly large, hulking structure that had all the hallmarks of being some sort of town centre. As they stooped to enter, nothing was particularly evident beyond the large table, made from the same wood substitute as the bridge, and a small, worn looking gnome perched at the far end of it, surrounded by papers and books and plans of all natures… made of whatever passed for paper down here.

At their silent arrival, the gnome looked up. Although he smiled brightly, his face was worn with worry, and his eyes sunken and haunted. "Ah, travellers to our fair city," he greeted them warmly but cautiously. "That would be rare enough, but you are surfacers by the look of you." He stood up, gesturing to some of the gnome-sized chairs about the table, ignoring the fact that some of his guests, like Minsc, were almost bent double by standing in the room. "I'd presume the captain of the guard let you in. Come, I would have words with you, if you are willing to hear," he offered.

Harrian nodded slowly, diplomatically taking a chair and glaring at the others until they awkwardly followed suit. "My thanks. He did indeed let us in, and mentioned something of how we might be 'useful'. We require your help – if there is anything we can do for you in return, please tell us."

The gnome nodded. "First, let me introduce myself. I am Goldander Blackenrock, leader of this settlement."

Harrian smiled slightly. "Harrian Corias, adventurer. We surfacers may well be able to help you here."

Goldander nodded slowly. "It is a matter that I would prefer to trust to an outsider. Too much Svirfneblin blood has been spilled over this as it is," he replied gravely, frowning sadly. "We desperately need your assistance, but I shall tell you what the problem is before you decide whether or not to agree. I tap rock you do."

The gnome started to pace slowly, frowning a little as he gestured about the room. "As you can see, our granitehome village is quite empty. I have sent the majority of my people down to deeper climes, for their own safety. That their safety has been compromised is our own fault." He sighed and perched on the table so he was at eye-level with Harrian, ignoring how comical the larger surfacers seemed, cramped in the gnome-sized building. "We tunnelled too deep recently, and unearthed a monstrosity," he intoned gravely, his voice oddly losing strength as he spoke. "A strange cavern that yielded death, a monster we have not seen outside of dreaming. I wish only for you to kill the beast and close the tunnel."

Jaheira leant forwards slowly, frowning. "Could you just not simply collapse the tunnel on top of the beast? That would either kill it or, at the very least, block it from getting to the city," she suggested quietly.

Goldander shrugged a little flippantly. "Oh, the tunnel will readily collapse, of that we are sure. What is unsure is whether that would kill the beast now that it is awakened," he replied, oddly casual.

Imoen stared ahead, colour draining from her face a little. "A… awakened?" she echoed numbly, looking at Goldander pleadingly. "Please tell me that you mean it was hibernating and not… otherworldly."

Haer'Dalis patted her arm comfortingly, though his expression was not one of concern. "I have encountered beasts that were 'awakened' before. This is no natural animal, is it," he said, half to Imoen, half to Goldander. His last sentence was not a question.

Goldander stood again, pacing once more. "As I said, it is a beast out of dreams, or nightmares, if you prefer. It is not of the rock. I do not know what to call it," he replied falteringly, shaking his head and not looking at them.

Harrian nodded slowly. "Very well. Our goal is clear then," he declared at last. "I will kill this beast for you, if in return you help me." He looked Goldander in the eye as the gnome glanced at him inquisitively. "My friends and I are searching for a way to get into the Drow city of Ust Natha."

Goldander, to his credit, did not seem too taken aback by this statement. "That, I can help you with. Save our city, and I promise that I shall help you. I cannot get you into the city myself, but I can show you the way to one who most certainly can."


	97. Fire and Brimstone

****

Chapter 97: Fire and Brimstone

The party came to a halt as they stood at the entrance to the mine shafts of the Svirfneblin city. Packs had been abandoned with Goldander, and only the necessary weapons were at hand. They brought nothing which could be a hindrance. Nothing was to go wrong here.

Harrian was at the front, Daystar in one hand, a flaming torch to illuminate the gloom of the deeper parts of the Underdark in the other as the others gathered behind him, equipped with their various arms and armour, ready to go.

The swashbuckler sighed as he peered ahead of them, unable to make out too much in the darkness. "There could be _anything_ in there," he pointed out unhappily. "A creature of nightmares, he said… well, there are many, many of them in this world. I should know; I've seen a few of them."

The others didn't respond, and the silence was only broken by Anomen casting Protection from Evil on himself. Even if this spell would have no effect on whatever it was they were fighting, it caused Edwin to give the Helmite a wide berth, much to Harrian's amusement.

At last, it was Imoen who chirped up. "Well, sitting here wondering isn't going to get us anywhere," the pink-haired mage pointed out. "No, we don't know, but there's only one way to find out, isn't there?" She notched an arrow onto her shortbow, favouring the range it offered here over the powers of the Staff of the Magi, which she had temporarily loaned to Edwin.

Harrian sighed, raising both torch and sword again as he nodded. "Alright… alright… let's do this. We need to do this," he whispered, almost to himself as he walked forwards, slowly but purposefully, nerves threatening to have him run screaming at the slightest shock.

He hated mines. Ever since Nashkel, in one of his first serious fights against the hundreds of screaming kobolds, with their flaming arrows and dangerous little blades, he had hated the underground, and especially mines. But here he strode willingly into one, to face an unknown creature of nightmares for a cause which wasn't even his own. He had to have been crazy.

A deep rumble from one of the shafts on the left told him which direction to take and, as Anomen and Minsc moved to stand up front with him, he turned that way, treading slowly and purposefully, fear still rising within him.

The ground trembled, and there was a dull _thump_ from up ahead. He stepped up the pace, knowing that if he went any slower he'd come to a complete halt. A sort of snort could be heard, and as they finally reached the central mine shaft, a large illuminated cavern, Harrian was terrified for a moment that they were dealing with a dragon.

But no. The party had killed two dragons before, and besides, the Svirfneblin would doubtless know a dragon if they saw one. What awaited them as they entered the final room was… nothing.

The room was empty. But not for long, it seemed, as the stomping and rumbling could still be heard, emanating from a deep pit in the centre of the cavern. The party cautiously took up positions, Edwin, Imoen and Haer'Dalis hanging near the back, the other four assembling within a safe distance of the pit. There was a long pause.

"Brace yourselves," Harrian murmured, tossing the torch to the ground as he tightened his grip on the Daystar, then shuffled his feet around, finding a suitably solid rock on the floor… and kicked it into the pit.

There was another loud snort, this one sounding moderately indignant, then, as they watched with rising horror, a huge, hulking creature began to emerge over the top of the pit. Of horned head and flaming wings, it was, as Goldander had said… something out of nightmares.

Harrian heard Anomen's quick intake of air. "What is this devilry?" the priest mumbled numbly, tightening his grip on the Flail of Ages.

"A balor, fool," was Edwin's curt reply, but most of the venom had been sapped from his voice by the fear they were all feeling as the balor emerged fully from the pit and straightened up, wings stretching as it let out an ominous roar.

Harrian stared at the balor in absolute horror, not having expected anything like this. It was only Jaheira's calm, confident voice in his ear which returned his strength and his resolve as she murmured, "What do we do now, Harrian?"

This asking for orders whilst being so calm filled the swashbuckler with determination and something which could well have been courage as he raised the Daystar, securing his hold on the hilt as he felt it slip in his sweaty grip. "Now? We attack."

He waited for a moment as the two frontline fighters of Minsc and Anomen launched themselves forwards, contemplating using one of his throwing knives but reasoning that it would probably do absolutely nothing to this enemy.

As he threw himself forwards, sword upraised, he saw two shining balls of magic fly overhead and strike the balor as Edwin and Imoen used their spells to attempt to lower the demon's resistance to their attacks. In the next second, a flaming arrow came from Haer'Dalis, doing remarkably little damage, and thus the blade drew his two short swords and leapt into the fray.

With a roar, Minsc swung his Warblade at the balor, and although it connected with the demon's hide, there was precious little damage done. Beside him, the Flail of Ages crashed into the balor's foot as Anomen commenced his attack, with a similar amount of success, and Jaheira's twin scimitars flashed as she struck twice, her assaults having little affect on the balor.

Harrian dropped into a sideways roll to avoid the balor's flaming sword as it crashed against the spot he'd been standing at a moment before, and hopped onto the massive wrist of the creature, driving the Daystar into the flesh of the beast, hacking and stabbing for all he was worth. It seemed so futile.

It seemed even more futile when a massive clawed hand clattered into him, sending him flying across the cavern and smashing into a wall, his head cracking against the rock face, the impact knocking the breath out of him and possibly breaking a few ribs.

He slid to the floor falteringly, his vision blurring, barely aware of what was going on. As he rolled over, trying to stand up again, he looked over at the fight in time to see Minsc get scooped up in a massive, demonic fist, which convulsed once then dropped the ranger limply to the floor. Haer'Dalis was already prone on the floor, the irregular rising and dropping of his chest the only thing to suggest he was still alive. From the back, Edwin threw spell after spell at the balor with varying effects as Imoen, looking absolutely livid, did little more than rain arrow after arrow upon the beast.

Jaheira, however, was uninjured, dancing away from the balor's blows at the last second, moving quicker than Harrian, in his groggy state, could register as she weaved around the demon, attacking strongly and swiftly then withdrawing before retaliation could come. Anomen was…

He suddenly felt strong hands pull him to his feet, and the all-too familiar voice of the Helmite was heard in his ear as he murmured a quick healing spell, lessening the thudding of his head and the burning in his chest.

Harrian turned to look the cleric in the eye, not wasting time as he merely nodded once, then the two of them turned and hurried forwards, weapons in hand, ready to fight yet again. As they watched, the balor scooped up Minsc again, then turned and physically hurled him at the two mages near the back, sending them all flying into a dazed and wounded pile.

The swashbuckler slowed and turned to Anomen. "See to the others. You're more use in getting them able to fight than in being just one more sword arm right now. See if you can get Minsc up and active again, and make sure Immy and Edwin aren't too badly injured…"

As Anomen nodded and hurried towards the others, Harrian turned back in time to see Jaheira get hit, mercifully with the flat of the balor's sword as she dodged in the wrong direction. The blow sent her flying back, but from the way she hit the ground and how she quickly rolled back to her feet, she didn't seem too badly injured.

This left only Harrian and the balor, and the thief was particularly aware of how much he was at a disadvantage here. The beast turned to face him, and for a moment he thought it was mocking him, staring and hardly moving, lowering its flaming sword.

**_This is not your fight, manling,** _a strange noise, voice was heard, and Harrian didn't know if the creature was speaking or if it was just in his head. **_This is not your place. Who are **you** to defy me?_**

Harrian drew himself to his full, rather pathetic considering the circumstances, height, an odd feeling of calm coming over him. But at the same time the calm was accompanied by a rising darkness, a bubbling maelstrom of emotion from below, which he found comforting and intoxicating all at once. "_I am the son of Bhaal_!" he yelled, pointing the Daystar at the balor. "And I'll do all the defying I wish."

The darkness was pressing forwards now, along with the swirling confusion and intoxicating power, but he felt it come to a halt, reigned in by his own control and tranquillity of mind. He felt that he could either dismiss this new, potential strength, or accept it and turn it to his own needs.

Harrian looked around him. Jaheira had finally clambered to his feet and stood, blades at the ready, but merely watching, a mixture of fear and confusion on her face as she looked upon him. Haer'Dalis was still unconscious on the floor, but beyond Anomen was pulling Imoen to her feet. The pink-haired mage was pushing him away, gesturing at the still unconscious Minsc and a dazed Edwin.

He had a sudden moment of clarity of mind. _It will kill them all_, he realised, for his friends would not run, and they would not win. They would fight, and they would die, and he was the only one who could do anything about it.

He accepted the dark power.

Jaheira looked on in horror as she saw him begin to change, his limbs lengthening, skin reddening as he grew in stature, the man she knew disappearing and being replaced with the hulking monster she feared even more than the balor.

The Slayer, although smaller than the balor, at least matched it in ferocity, and launched itself at the extraplanar beast, claws whirling, teeth bared. There were the most horrific shrieks and roars as the two creatures met in battle, and for a while in the gloom all could be seen were two red blurs.

Imoen stumbled up to stand next to Jaheira, her face a mask of shock and fear. "What… what happened? He just stood there, then he… he changed…" she whispered, her voice hoarse and strained.

Jaheira shook her head numbly. "I do not know, child. I thought he was in control… I thought he was stronger than this," she replied as it slowly dawned upon her that she had no reason to be even vaguely aware of the state of Harrian's inner psyche. After all, he didn't let her in there.

"It's taking him over," Imoen continued, aware that they were just standing as the battle raged before. Harrian had been newly healed before changing. The balor had already been beaten down, magically and physically. The Slayer had the upper hand.

Then, suddenly, there was an almighty roar from one the two monsters before them as one fell, collapsing into the dust, sprawled across the rock, twitching only a little as the very life seeped out of it.

The victor raised its head and let out an inhuman roar of triumph… then slowly began to shrink in size. The beast shifted, changing form, until before them stood Harrian, scuffed, bloodied and beaten, but standing tall and upright. He turned slowly to face them, his expression composed and calm, and he stepped over slowly, adjusting his sword belt and straightening his cloak.

Jaheira took a cautious step forwards, looking amazed. "You… we thought we had lost you. We thought you had lost control and the Slayer had taken over," she breathed in absolute wonder and shock.

Harrian shook his head, still calm and worn but looking moderately cheerful. "No. I was in complete control the whole time," he explained vaguely, shrugging, and as he stepped over to where Anomen, Minsc and Edwin stood, Jaheira realised that this answer was considerably more disturbing than what she had feared before.


	98. Bhaalspawn and Harper

****

Chapter 98: Bhaalspawn and Harper

Jaheira grabbed Harrian by the elbow, yanking him around to face her. He stared at her hand on his arm for a moment, then looked straight into her eyes, expression clear and honest, vaguely confused. "Yes?"

"_What_… do you mean by that?" the druid gasped in a whisper, completely and utterly incredulous, still reeling a little from the thief's declaration of control. She could not contemplate how such an action could have been pre-meditated and voluntary.

"I mean I was in control." Harrian smiled a little scarily, and glanced up at the others, obviously not as inclined as Jaheira to keep their conversation down. "I knew what I was doing… everything was so clear. I had the choice before me, and although I chose the Slayer, it… it wasn't like it was before. I could still feel 'me'. I was in control of myself, and my instinct, and the taint."

Seeing the completely shocked and terrified looks on the expressions of the others in the party, Jaheira tightened her grip on his arm and bodily pulled him out of the cavern and into the mine shaft beyond, swiftly retrieving the torch Harrian had abandoned beforehand.

They looked at each other in the gloom, the Bhaalspawn still seemingly elated, the Harper utterly shocked to her core. There was a long moment of silence, the tension and issues surrounding them momentarily forgotten as slightly more important matters – in Jaheira's mind, at least – took over.

She took a deep breath, staring at the floor for a moment before looking up into his eyes. "You can't be in control of the taint," she started slowly. "That's not how it works. The taint controls you, overpowers you, tells you how to do these things. Any control is just an illusion as the taint _uses you_."

Harrian's euphoric expression hardened slowly. "Just how do you know that?" he demanded quietly. "You're not a Child of Bhaal. You have _no idea _what the taint does to you. How it pulls at you. How it leaves you terrified every single moment of losing control and succumbing to it, but secretly hoping you'll embrace it at the same moment."

"And now you believe, all of a sudden, that you've been able to gain control over it?" Jaheira retorted sceptically, raising an eyebrow. "I know how you've lived in fear of your taint for almost as long as I've known you. I know how it has tempted you time and time again; almost overcome you on occasion. And you have told me many times yourself that you have to always fend it off, always keep it at bay. You have told me so many times that there is no way to use the taint, for it will always use you." She paused, and took another deep breath. "You have told me so many times that you cannot control the taint."

Harrian looked unconvinced. "Things change. I change. I was obviously ignorant before. I hadn't had the chance to see, to learn before." He paused, and started to pace slowly. "It's the lack of a soul, I think," he started again, and in his voice was a little more of the Harrian she knew, and not the terrifying stranger who claimed to have control. "It tears away my humanity a bit more… it leaves only the taint behind, no more prevalent before, but less… filtered…"

The thief stopped, and looked at her head on, smiling a little bit. "It's not a solution. I need my soul back, of course. That hasn't changed. And the taint is _never _something I will accept. But for now, in the mean time, as the taint pushes at me more… I know that I can reign it in, use it for my own purposes."

"The purposes of power and destruction?" Jaheira demanded, one hand on her hip as the other held up the torch. "Harrian, _listen _to yourself! You are sounding no better than Sarevok! You are sounding like someone who is everything ever feared by the Harpers! Gods, you are sounding like someone who gives credibility to Galvarey's case! _This is not you_!" she snapped.

"I know myself better than you know me," Harrian replied nonchalantly, waving the comment aside. "And the Harpers know nothing. Nor does anyone else who tries to judge the taint. Because they don't understand. Nobody does. Nobody understands what it means to be a Bhaalspawn."

"No. Not even the Bhaalspawns themselves," Jaheira snapped. "Because it might start here, with a moment's control, making you believe that you don't have to live in absolute terror of the taint. Because it might start with something which makes you a little less afraid of yourself. If you grow confident in that control, your fear will lessen. As your fear lessens, your complacency will increase." She sighed, anger seeping out of her a little as her own fear crept in. "Your taint, in itself, is evil. We always need to fear evil, because it is our fear which keeps us fighting it. Not the ideal of fighting evil. The fear of evil, the fear of what evil will do if it is allowed to take control. The moment you stop being afraid, the evil takes over.

"It might start with what you think is a moment's control, which comforts you. But that control isn't control; it's the taint making you _believe _you're in control. It's the taint manipulating you. Because the Bhaaltaint has no master – it gets others to do its bidding." Jaheira looked away, not meeting his gaze as she spoke. "And as you begin to rely more and more on that control, the taint becomes more powerful within you. As you use the taint, believing you control it, it controls you. Because, in accepting this control, your vigilance is waning, the taint gets a chance to seep into you and take over utterly. It starts here, with what you believe in control… it ends in another Sarevok as the taint controls you. And you will lose yourself utterly. You will become nothing but evil and murder themselves." _And I will have to kill you_, Jaheira added silently, closing her eyes for a moment to try and push that treacherous truth from out of her mind.

"Nobody understands what it means to be a Bhaalspawn. Not even the Bhaalspawn themselves. You're terrified by the taint. Your companions are terrified by the taint in you, and their fear merely increases when they see you embrace it as you just have. They don't know what it means. They don't know if you're in control or not, but they're afraid you'll lose yourself, be consumed by darkness. They're afraid of what it'll mean if your heritage takes you over. If you'll turn on them."

Jaheira stepped forwards and grabbed him by the shoulder, looking straight on at him. "And there's one person back in that room who is terrified, not just for you, but for themselves. They see what happens to you, and it fills them with absolute fear because they don't know what it means to them. They don't know how it will affect them, but they know it will. Somehow. Because they are a Bhaalspawn. And not even the Bhaalspawn understand what it means to be a Bhaalspawn."

Harrian had listened in silence, his expression completely unreadable, but it crumpled under this final declaration. "Immy?" he whispered weakly, looking utterly shocked and beaten for a moment. "You… you knew? She told you?"

Jaheira shook her head a little guiltily. "I have known for a long time," the druid assured him. "For as long as I have known about you. Gorion knew, and told me. It was his wish that she not be told. He believed you would benefit from knowing, from being told, as the taint was more prevalent with you and to be aware would lend you a vigilance you would need if you were not to be consumed by evil. But for Imoen… for Imoen, he thought she had enough light within her that she did not need to be told, that the ignorance would protect her better than the knowledge would."

Anger crossed Harrian's face as he grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him, wrenching out of her grasp. "You should have _told _me!" he snapped suddenly. "When Irenicus took her, you _should have told me_! Then I would have known _why_…"

"And what difference would it have made?" Jaheira retorted. "It would have changed _nothing_!" She paused, and as a silence fell upon them she stared at the floor. "Now is not the time to debate this, however. Now we are discussing you. And your taint. Leave my knowing of Imoen for another day."

The anger faded once again, and Harrian closed his eyes, bowing his head. "Gods," he whispered, his voice quavering slightly. There as a long silence until he looked up again, his face a mask of grief. "I'm sorry, Jaheira," he murmured sadly. "I know… that was insane. You're right… of course, you're always right…" He turned away, and started to pace. "I just… I want to be able to control it. For real, I mean, not be under the illusion of control. I don't want to have to be forever vigilant, always watching my step, always… always in fear. I've been afraid for longer than I can remember."

"You can't change that. That is a fact." Jaheira hesitated, chewing on her lower lip for a moment. "That is why you need to turn to your companions. Because we will help you with the burden. Even though… no, we cannot understand what it means to be a Bhaalspawn. We cannot understand what is going through your head."

Harrian paused for a long moment, staring at her, frowning a little, then looked away. "Can we… can we talk later, Jaheira? Right now, I think we need to… to get back to business," he said, looking back at the entrance to the cavern where the others doubtless waited. As she nodded wordlessly, he gave her a brief, grateful glance. "For now… thank you. But we will talk later," he added, then started back into the cavern, a thoughtful druid in his wake.


	99. Bonding

****

Chapter 99: Bonding

Anomen watched Jaheira drag Harrian out of the cavern, utterly confused. A part of him wanted to go out and, in some way, moderate the conversation, because considering all that had just happened, perhaps leaving those two to their own devices wasn't the best of ideas. Though following would be incurring Jaheira's wrath – and Harrian's, and considering what the thief had just done, he didn't want to irritate their leader.

He leant down and picked up the scroll to collapse the cavern on top of the dead Balor. It was a little battered, and one corner was ripped, but it was still intact. He unrolled it and peered at the arcane words suspiciously. Although he had used scrolls for spells in the past, this was quite unlike any he had seen before, being Svirfneblin in origin. He'd probably do well to pass it onto Edwin.

This thought reminded Anomen that the others were still around him. Imoen stood by his side, looking tired and worn, her expression suspiciously emotionless as her gaze flickered from the dead Balor to the entrance to the cavern which Jaheira and Harrian had disappeared through. Anomen made a mental note to talk to her later, though he was a little unsure why he bothered – she would doubtless not open up to him, but he was determined to try.

Edwin had staggered to his feet and was resting against the wall, drinking from a healing potion as if it were a flask of water. Anomen would have intervened and tried to stop the mage from wasting valuable potions if it weren't for the fact that Edwin's many cuts and bruises were disappearing right before their sight, flesh knitting together and bruises fading on his skin as they watched.

Next to him was Minsc, standing a little unsteadily, consulting Boo about something. The ranger had already been healed by Anomen, but was still a little battered from the battle. The priest was, however, loath to use another spell on him, as he had a limited number left and it wasn't clear whether or not Harrian or Jaheira would need to be attended to, or even if the druid had any healing spells of her own. Minsc could stand, could function – as much as Minsc could – and would probably be perfectly alright after a night's sleep, so it was not worth using a spell or a valuable potion unnecessarily.

Anomen's expression darkened as Edwin drained his bottle and searched about him for a second one. Even as the Thayvian removed the cork and lifted it to his lips, the cleric strode past him and yanked it out of his hand, sealing it swiftly before Edwin could even react.

"Show some backbone, Red Wizard," the Helmite spat. "You can stand, your worse bruises and cuts are healed, and another drink would be nothing more than a waste of potions. We do not know whether or not we can gain another supply of these. If necessary, ask Jaheira if she has any leftover healing spells before we rest, but before we should _not _waste our supplies so callously."

Edwin raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth for a retort just as Imoen arrived, interrupting the budding argument by tugging on Anomen's sleeve. She had gone a little whiter than before, and had switched the emotionless mask for an expression of intense worry. "Anomen… Haer'Dalis."

Anomen unhappily glanced over to where he had last seen the tiefling and winced slightly. Haer'Dalis had been thrown to the floor and his prone form was now sprawled in the dust. He couldn't tell whether or not the bard was moving, or breathing, but from the way Imoen was running towards the unconscious tiefling, ignoring Anomen's reaction now she had got his attention, he could feel his heart sink a little.

The pink-haired mage had Haer'Dalis's head cradled in her lap by the time Anomen had staggered over, mentally running through what spell to use. He knelt before the bard, ripping his gauntlets off and lifting a bare hand to the tiefling's neck, searching for the beat of life somewhere within.

"Is he alive?" Imoen asked anxiously, brushing a stray lock of blue hair from out of the bard's face and biting her lower lip. He could see her hand trembling, so he reached out and covered it with his own.

"He is alive. He will survive," Anomen assured her briefly, before pulling back and closing his eyes, hands on Haer'Dalis's chest. His lips moved silently as he chanted under his breath, reaching out, trying to find Helm's power and use it to save the tiefling.

A part of him wondered why he was doing it. The bard had done nothing to deserve this sort of assistance – in Anomen's eyes, merely travelling in Harrian's party did not automatically make you a good person who deserved this sort of help. Haer'Dalis had done precious little in all of his existence to make him deserve to live.

On the other hand, he didn't deserve to die, and from the worried look in Imoen's eyes as she gripped the tiefling's hand, it seemed as if Haer'Dalis did indeed have a chance to somehow, potentially, make his life worth saving and worth living, if only for the sake of somebody else.

Anomen's eyes snapped open as the blue light of a healing spell engulfed the bard, then spared himself the pain of Imoen's reaction by looking away and hurriedly searching for a healing potion to give to the bard.

Haer'Dalis gasped and attempted to sit up, but was firmly pulled back down by Imoen's grip on his shoulder. As his head spun from the disorientation of the spell and the movement, he found himself face to face with a smiling Imoen, whose blue eyes were twinkling with absolute delight. "I thought you were supposed to be the best swordsman in the realms?" she asked, chuckling.

The blade was prevented from replying by Anomen bottled a bottled healing potion in his face. "Drink," the cleric grunted, grabbing the tiefling's arm and examining carefully the wounds in it. Some were quite deep, and there was a small chance that the healing potion, whilst it would knit the flesh together, it might not remove the ache which would doubtless remain for a few hours, or maybe days. Good.

Haer'Dalis drank gratefully, feeling distinctly revitalised by the glowing blue liquid. He gasped for air again as he was done, then looked over at Anomen, who was already putting his potion case away and standing, ready to head over back towards Minsc and Edwin. "My thanks, my hound," the bard declared lightly as he sat up slowly.

Anomen merely grunted in reply before striding off, eyes fixed on a spot on the cavern wall most intently, and making absolute sure that he didn't cast them a backwards glance, even when standing in silence with the other two.

Haer'Dalis rubbed at his chest ruefully. "I am indeed the best swordsman in the realms – well, the second best," he told Imoen as he looked at her. "However, it came to my attention that this balor was not exactly interested in using his sword in hand-to-hand combat, and even the sharp edge of Entropy could not quite deflect his massive blade." He smiled at last, standing and pulling her to her feet also. "But I am now healed, and none the worse for wear. It shall take more than a denizen of the hells to destroy Haer'Dalis!"

"Perhaps, but if we could avoid putting it to the test again?" Imoen replied, smiling tiredly, the relief obvious. She seemed frayed and edgy even knowing he was alright, and wouldn't quite let go of his hand.

His smile broadened a little. "My wildflower, although I am a Doomguard and, as such, must welcome the end of all things, I believe I can currently aid my philosophy distinctly more by being alive and well instead of meeting my own fate this very day. I have no intention of being cast down before the curtain has to fall."

Back with Minsc and Edwin, as he slouched with his back against the wall, Anomen frowned a little sulkily as he saw Imoen hug Haer'Dalis happily. He looked away, kicking idly at a stone on the floor, then pulled the scroll to collapse the cavern out of his belt and passed it to Edwin. "You may wish to examine this for use for when Harrian returns and we are ready to finish this sordid affair," he sighed, unable to conjure up even any venom or an insult for the Red Wizard.

Edwin raised an eyebrow, but took the scroll without comment. There was a long silence as he unrolled it and read carefully, making the occasional hum of comprehension, but on the whole not seeming particularly thrilled with the scroll. "A simple affair, and something someone of my unsurpassed intellect should have no problem in dealing with." There was a pause as he rolled it up and stuck it somewhere within his robe. "You can be something of a coward and a buffoon, Helmite," he declared at last.

Anomen's frown deepened, this time with confusion, and he turned to glower slightly at the mage. "What makes you say that, Thayvian? Have I done something in particular this time to damage your sensitive nature and prompt you to let forth with half-witted insults which are unnecessary?"

Edwin rolled his eyes and leant back against the rock, fiddling with the spell components on his belt. "There was a 'but' coming, simian," he sighed. "And as a matter of fact, your constant bumbling and sulking irks me." He paused, then jerked his cowled head in the direction of Imoen and Haer'Dalis. "Though I cannot begin to comprehend what the two of you see in that perpetually and disturbingly perky wench, you are showing all the backbone and determination of a mustard jelly in your endeavours (If, indeed, there are any endeavours at all, for I cannot see them)."

"Why do you care?" Anomen asked defensively. "What is it to you how I conduct my affairs or my life?" It took a few seconds after he demanded this for him to realise that he hadn't denied anything Edwin had accused him of.

Edwin shrugged. "Do not presume; I am merely tolerating this foolish endeavour here in the Underdark solely for the promises Corias has made me. You know full well that I am hating spending time with this party." He straightened up, and glanced at the entrance to the cavern as Harrian and Jaheira stepped back in. "Your bumbling is amusing, and is possibly one of the few things that makes this stay more bearable. That frivolous, irritating bard, on the other hand, is one of the major factors in making this stay unbearable in the first place." He paused, and pasted a smile onto his face. "Now, let us get back to being lackeys, shall we?"


	100. Jigsaw Puzzle

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AN: At last, Chapter 100! I'm exceedingly proud of myself now! I'd like to thank everybody who's supported me over the past… ten or eleven months, given me constructive criticism, destructive criticism, or just praise. It's all helped, though the flaming less than others. Don't think I've been flamed that much, though.

Anyway, Tide of Destiny is going well… though I've written myself into a spot where I need the Underdark to be over and done with fairly quickly. I'm predicting about ten chapters or so, hopefully maximum, before we're out. The Underdark is plot-essential, but much of it really doesn't need to be gone-over, as it's much of what you'll have seen in the game. The minor twists are distinctly minor, and the big changes, the big swings, are lined up for once the Underdark is over and done with. So I'll get cracking, and hopefully not get bored! :-D

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Chapter 100: Jigsaw Puzzle

The Svirfneblin had been absolutely delighted when the adventurers had returned, with Goldander already summoning the gnomes he had sent to deeper levels back to the main village. He had offered them shelter for the night, with the promise of helping them on their quest once they were fully rested, and had then set about finding some interesting treasure with which to pay them for their apparent heroics. The party had been in no situation to refuse, and had gratefully collapsed in the slightly too small but comfortable beds of the village inn upon arrival and after having been profusely thanked by every Svirfneblin they had come across.

Some of them were still sleeping deeply; others had dozed but awoken a few hours later, there being too many things on their minds for them to slumber restfully for any particular length of time. One of these such people was Jaheira, who had taken a brief rest then escaped to the inn's common room, abandoned this late at night. It had been no mean feat to manoeuvre herself into the tiny chairs of the Svirfneblin, but she had managed it and was now perched there with a drink of some sort she had raided from the bar.

She wasn't too surprised when Harrian emerged from the corridor leading to the rooms, looking groggy and worn but still quite thoughtful and determined. In turn, he didn't bat an eyelid when he saw her, merely made his careful way across the common room towards her. There was a second's pause as he regarded the chairs left around, then he nudged the table over and perched on that in front of her.

"Couldn't sleep?" the swashbuckler asked quietly, clasping his hands together in front of him as he looked down at her.

Jaheira shrugged. "It has taken me many years, but I have learnt enough to be able to gain as much energy from as little resting time as possible." She sipped her odd drink lightly. "A druid trick," she added by way of explanation.

"Ah, you druids. Wily little buggers," Harrian murmured, sounding a little like his old self. There was a slight distance in his eyes, however, as his mind raced back to the other druids he'd known. There had been Faldorn, yes… then Cernd, and all the others at Trademeet. He tried, vaguely successfully, to push the incidents at Trademeet to the back of his head. This was not the time to consider such things.

Or was it?

"I feel I owe you… an explanation, or at least an apology." Harrian paused, grimacing. "I'm not sure I can say anything which makes anything better, or even makes things clearer, but I think I owe you at least an attempt to do so."

Jaheira looked up at him, and their eyes met for a long moment until the thief glanced away guiltily. "Do nothing merely because you feel you 'owe' it me," she whispered, and although her voice was soothing, there was a slightly hard note in there too… pride? A defensive wall?

"Should I only do something that I want to do, then?" he countered a little challengingly. "I don't want to. I _want_ to be able to stick my head in the sand and just try to wish all of this away, but I'm not so far gone that I honestly consider that to be an option." Harrian stared at the floor, and sighed deeply. "I'll do what I should. It's taken me some time, but, as you always said… what you want to do and what you should do are two very different things, and we can't live this life selfishly."

The druid raised an eyebrow at him. "Who is being the selfish one here, however?" she demanded lightly.

Harrian sighed yet again. "Me," he replied quietly. "I'm being selfish in pushing you away… it's not fair to you, and I know there's nothing saying that I… should… keep you at arm's length… but I need to, right now," he explained slowly. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and rested his hand lightly on hers, ready to pull it swiftly away at a moment's notice. "It's selfish, and unfair to you, but it's what I need. I can't let you in, because I'm not sure I could handle that right now. There's so much going on… inside my head, inside my heart, and although I know you would help to set half of it right, you'd bring with you even more turmoil, turmoil I'd delight in sorting through with you if life were as normal as it can be for us… but life isn't normal, not for me, and although you'd solve half the problems in my head, the ones you'd add would turn me upside-down." He paused, frowning slightly. "Did that make… any sense?"

Jaheira smiled tightly, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "Enough." She paused, looking down. "I don't have all of the answers to your problems. I wish I did, but I don't. And I understand." She met his gaze again, and this time, he didn't pull away. "Know that I care for you, however, Harrian. I shall give you the distance you need, but I'm not afraid to step in as I had to today if it is needed. I shall leave your heart to its own devices, but your mind and soul…" Her voice trailed off as she realised what she was saying, and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment.

Harrian looked pained for a few seconds, then withdrew his hand slowly. "Thank you," he said at last. "I will need you as… Jaheira, my friend and my guide. I don't think I'll ever stop needing you as that. But as… anything more… not now." He stopped, looking exceedingly guilty, then looked deeply into her eyes. "When this is over… when we're out of this dark place, or when I have my soul back… when _something _here is sorted, we shall talk again, I promise you. When things have changed." He stood carefully. "I should sleep, if we are to carry on again tomorrow. This party needs a leader sound of mind, and although I may not be able to be _that_, I'll at least try to be a leader who's not about to collapse," he said at last, uncomfortably leaving and heading back to his room, leaving a thoughtful Jaheira behind him.

They had thought they were the only two of the party who were awake and out and about, but they were quite wrong. Sleeplessness was an attribute two others suffered from that night, and had suffered from for longer than Jaheira had been awake, though they were quite unaware of the other's condition.

Anomen wandered the streets of the Svirfneblin village. He had been out for an hour or so now, for once enjoying the cool air of this part of the Underdark, walking to avoid dreams and thoughts. The constant movement, being able to focus on something – even it was just where he was going – saved him from entertaining other, less pleasurable considerations. He also thought he was the only member of the party out and about.

So he was surprised, as he reached the southernmost part of the village, to see Imoen perched on the tall fence before the massive canyon the bridge into the village had crossed. Although before her was an incredible, and possibly even endless, drop, the lithe and nimble mage was showing absolutely no fear as she sat, heels tapping against the wood-like material the fence was made from, staring out into space.

Anomen grimaced as he approached, then stood silently for a minute, wondering how best to make his presence known without surprising her. He cleared his throat quietly, hoping to get her attention, then raised his voice slightly. "My lady?"

Imoen's head whipped around with unexpected speed, and his heart stopped for a moment as he thought she had lost balance, startled by his sudden appearance. But Imoen was quite in control as she smiled, genuinely yet a little guardedly, and shifted around swiftly so that she faced him. "Heya, Ano. It's a bit late to be out and about, isn't it?"

Anomen raised an eyebrow slightly as he stepped towards her, still eyeing the fence dubiously. "I could say the same thing to you, my lady," he pointed out. "Ah… are you sure you don't want to get down?" he carried on uncomfortably.

Imoen laughed lightly, and she seemed in a more cheerful mood than he had seen her in for a few days. "Nah," she declared at last, then chuckled and leapt to her feet, balanced precariously on the fence still. She grinned as she saw his horrified expression, then started to walk along the fence, arms stretched out for balance.

"Imoen, by Helm, don't!" Anomen gasped, something telling him to be amused by her antics but a sudden panic rather overwhelming that. "It is, it must be, a terribly long way down if you fall…!"

Imoen theatrically glanced down into the deep blackness of the canyon as she walked, Anomen still hurrying along beside her, ready to snatch her off the fence if she did lose her balance. He had a point. It _was _a long way down. She started to skip.

Having had enough, Anomen decided to take action himself as he reached out quickly, strong hands suddenly gripping Imoen around the waist and pulling her down to solid ground, to safety.

There was a long moment whilst they stood, Anomen still holding on to her, as she stared up into his blue-green eyes. Jaheira's voice suddenly popped into her head, a memory, a piece of advice tugging at her.

Look_, child_. See_, child. There is more to this than meets the eye_.

She could see the seriousness of his expression, feel the hesitant tightness of his grip, hear the slowing and deepening of his breathing… and she pulled away quickly, masking slow realisation with a joking expression. "Spoilsport," she declared at last, sticking her tongue out at him.

Anomen blushed a little, smiling bashfully. "If I must be boring in order to stop you from plummeting, my lady, then that is a sacrifice I am quite willing to make." He paused for a long moment as he regained control, serious again. "Haer'Dalis is recovered and well, I take it?" he asked slowly, with bated breath.

Imoen shrugged, a slight frown on her face as she looked at him, pieces slotting together in her mind. Then she smiled again. "He was alright when I left him… sleeping, I think." She spotted the slight flicker on Anomen's face, heard her own words, and ensured she carried on to explain. "When we said goodnight… he said he was going to sleep when he went to his room," she stumbled.

"I see," Anomen said at last, keeping relief from his face. There was a dull silence, then he looked quizzically at her. "Why did you come out here? It has been a long day, and the days ahead shall be long also. You need your rest."

"So do you," she countered predictably, then sighed, and shrugged once again. "I don't know… I just wanted to get out. It's so… dark, so oppressive down here. I wanted to sit, and think… mull things over. It _has _been a long day, and quite a worrying one. What about you?"

He didn't press her last point; didn't dare, for she had erected barriers every time he had made a little more effort in conversation for the last month or so. "I also wished to think… doubtless for different reasons," he said. "But you are right. There is something about this place which brings everything dark and foreboding to the forefront, and it is impossible to think of the light," Anomen sighed at last.

Imoen shifted uncomfortably. "Do you want to talk about it?" It was a foolish question, she knew, because sharing problems was not an activity they had really partaken in over the last few weeks.

"No more than I am sure you do," the cleric replied quietly, and she felt a brief stab of guilt as he turned away slightly. "I am going to go and sleep," he said at last. "I would advise you to do the same, but if you wish to stay… please try to think somewhere other than on a fence above an endless drop," Anomen half-joked, half-pleaded, before walking off, back towards the inn without even a backwards turn.

Imoen closed her eyes as she leant back against the fence, mind reeling. It had all started to fit together, all into one mass she really didn't want to have to deal with right then. She knew she wouldn't get a moment's sleep that night.

And so, disregarding his warnings, she turned and clambered back onto the fence, perched precariously over the massive drop, staring out at the Underdark beyond the canyon, deep in thought once again. 


	101. A Rescue

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AN: Heh. Things have been morbid lately! So very morbid! And I was thinking a lot about it. I have ideas, lots of ideas, for that which would take place after the Underdark, but precious little by way of plans for what to happen during, beyond the normal plot. That struck me as wrong. I'd be racing through the plot bits, and then spending more_ time on fluff. So why not transpose the fluff onto the plot, and just have a richer Underdark? It's taking fiddling… but all will be explained, and hang on, because I've been hit by ideas now… it's all coming together…_

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Chapter 101: A Rescue

"A mysterious creature or person who may help us… living in the Underdark… in a pitch black cave where we need a special gem to navigate it… does anyone else here think that this is a poor idea?" Edwin asked lightly as the party trooped out of the Svirfneblin city in file, Harrian and Jaheira in the lead – the former using the map, the latter using infravision.

"Goldander said that they might be able to get us into Ust Natha," Imoen reminded him. "And I don't see anyone else offering to help us, or giving us any alternatives. Not even a Red Wizard with a superior intellect." She smirked at him as he glared back, then glanced over towards the two in the lead. "Seriously, though, Eddie's got a point," Imoen continued, ignoring Edwin's surprised, irritated, and suspicious look. "How do we know we're not just running into danger."

"This is the Underdark," Jaheira pointed out. "_Everywhere_ is danger. We see no alternatives, and as we saved the Svirfneblin from that balor, I sincerely doubt they would send us into any extreme danger."

"Knowingly, anyway," Anomen muttered. "They were far too vague for my liking. Why all the secrecy? If they are sending us to this Adalon at all, whoever he, she, or it may be, then I see no reason for leaving its nature shrouded in mystery."

"Maybe to protect themselves? Or it. Or us," Harrian guessed. "We won't know until we find this Adalon, whoever they are, and anything beyond that is just pure hypothesising without anything to back it up. You're going to wind yourselves up and panic over possibly nothing."

"Or possibly something serious," Edwin interjected. "You cannot seriously expect those runts to be entirely forthcoming with us. There is something very important we are not being told, and I sincerely dislike walking into the face of the unknown so unnecessarily."

The party came to a halt as Harrian paused, turning to the Thayvian and giving him an evil glare. "Nobody asked you to come along with this, Edwin. You don't like it, you can leave, now. I'm sure a Red Wizard of your intellect can find his own way out."

Edwin glowered, straightening up to his full height, which was actually a few inches over Harrian's fairly average stature. "No, you did not ask me. I came along on this trip because this is supposed to be my payment. There are riches in the Underdark; riches none of us can imagine, and you promised them to me. I would like to remain alive to _enjoy_, or even _receive_, my payment, and walking into a pitch black cave which holds an unknown creature in it with only a small… rock… to light our way, does not inspire me with confidence," he snapped back.

"You're coming along, under my leadership. You either carry on, doing as I say, and receive your reward, or you refuse my leadership. That in itself will be breaking the deal, and then you can leave, no reward, as is fair," Harrian spat.

Anomen stepped up slowly, raising his hands to try and calm the two bickering men down. "You are both right, and you are both wrong," he started diplomatically. "Edwin, Harrian is our leader," the cleric continued, a little coldly. "We have followed him this far, and we trust him. There is no alternative to what we have been presented with, and unless you have a better idea, I would suggest that you remain quiet and do not question his leadership."

Harrian was smirking as Anomen turned to him, but the smile died quickly as the Helmite carried on with his rampage. "Whereas _you_," he carried on, "have to see Edwin's point. We're following you into the very depths of the Abyss with this escapade, and we have all already had to abandon a good deal of our common sense to do so. This is becoming madness after madness. Just because we have no alternatives does not mean that caution must be abandoned," he lectured.

There was a long silence as both Edwin and Harrian eyed Anomen cautiously, and the cleric took a step back as both of them opened their mouths, probably to let loose with a few choice phrases.

Before they could, however, Haer'Dalis – who had been silent throughout the entire exchange, standing a few metres away from the party, looking fairly intense – spoke up, frowning a little. "My raven, there are… people… some distance to the east. I believe they are heading in our direction."

Harrian paused, then glanced swiftly over at Imoen. The pink-haired mage nodded slowly, then shifted her hands in a brief, elaborate pattern as she muttered something under her breath and disappeared instantaneously. Harrian glanced over at the others. "Hide. Get in shelter. We'll see what, or who, Immy finds."

The party scurried off to take cover behind a nearby outcropping of rocks, holding their breath, weapons at the ready. There was a long silence until some hurried footsteps could be heard, and Imoen materialised in front of them.

"Drow," she panted, having obviously been running. "A raiding party, or something. They've got slaves with them… not many, but some. Maybe three slaves? There's a captured troll. And eight or so drow… And they're headed in this direction."

Harrian paused, nodding. "Ambush," he declared at last. "They outnumber us, but we'll have the element of surprise. Edwin, Imoen, Haer'Dalis; get spells ready to hit them first of all. Try to avoid hitting the slaves. Anomen, Minsc – be ready to go in first of all. Focus on the drow. Jaheira and I will be right behind you, aiming for the slaves."

There were no questions as the party shifted their positions, ready for the attack. Harrian peered around the rocky corner discreetly, watching the drow approach slowly. Imoen had been correct indeed; there were eight drow, three slaves – all elves, as far as he could see – and one large, captured troll, who persistently tugged at his bindings. They would have to be careful of that one.

"On my signal," Harrian whispered, pulling a throwing knife from his bandoleer and fingering the tip lightly. There were some slight murmurs of comprehension from behind him as the tension thickened, everyone coiled tight, like springs, ready to burst out and unleash hell at a moment's notice.

The drow had been busy pulling at the troll and kicking the slaves to pay too much attention to their surroundings. Evidently they were quite comfortable in this environment; they had no obvious fear of illithids or beholders nearby, and were at ease as they travelled, probably along a regular route.

Thus the throwing knife which appeared almost from nowhere and embedded itself in the throat of the lead drow took them entirely by surprise. They had no time to react, however, as a fireball erupted in the ground in front of them, exploding viciously. There was a split-second's respite, followed by a barrage of magic missiles thudding into two drow, who had already been injured by the fireball's blast, and fell like rocks.

Anomen and Minsc charged forwards, the priest surrounded with a holy, protective light, the Flail of Ages already twirling dangerously in his hands. They ploughed into the first rank of drow like a hot knife through butter, Minsc's Warblade flashing with each swipe at a dark elven skull.

Harrian launched himself into the fray, pulling out both of his swords, the Daystar cutting into a drow's neck, Peridan slashing across another one's chest. He was headed towards the slaves, Jaheira at his back, fighting her way through also.

But as he watched and grew near, he could see the troll yank his hands apart, breaking the bonds weakened by constant tugging and a fireball's flames. Before Harrian could get there, the creature turned to the shrieking, bound, slave next to it and bodily ripped them apart.

The drow in charge of the slaves, already looking terrified by the assault from the adventurers, stared in shock as the monster broke his longsword in half with one easy twist. The drow gaped for a moment, then went to flee, pushing a second slave in the troll's path as a distraction.

The slave died as quickly as the first, and the drow met an end on the tip of Jaheira's fast scimitar, cut down even as he tried to run away, leaving, for now, only Harrian and the remaining slave.

A clawed fist, aimed at the elf's head, was stopped by a slash from the Daystar. The troll roared in pain, but was not deterred. Harrian quickly sheathed Peridan over his shoulder and took his blade in a two-handed grip, pushing the slave back a little roughly and placing himself between her and the monster. It would take fire, acid or poison to bring this beast down, and Harrian had none of them.

A second slash was easily deterred, and Harrian launched forwards with a stab of his own, catching the beast lightly in the chest, knocking it back as it let out a brief bark of pain. The fight with the drow around him faded from his consciousness, as he was dimly aware of Jaheira battling drow, Anomen and Minsc wreaking havoc, and the spellcasters behind him bringing down individual enemies.

Harrian dodged quickly to avoid a claw, pulling the dagger from his boot and slashing at the troll's arm yet again. He needed to end this fight now, but didn't have the means to do so…

He paused, kicking at the troll to knock it back for a moment, then turned swiftly to the last remaining slave he was defending, passing her his dagger quickly. "Free yourself, and get back with my friends behind the rocks," he told the elf quietly, before turning and again deflecting a blow from the troll as it roared with fury.

He heard no reply from the slave, and as he launched himself forwards one last time, driving the Daystar through the troll's chest in an attack he knew wouldn't kill it but hoped would at least bring it down, the last thing he had expected was for the elf to intervene in any way.

But she did, as a magical flaming arrow cut through the darkness and hit the troll in the face, setting the creature alight as Harrian pulled back swiftly, watching the monster burn and fall to the ground.

There was silence for a long moment, broken only by a dull _thump_ as Anomen dispatched the last of the drow with a well-time swing from his flail. Edwin, Imoen and Haer'Dalis emerged from behind the outcropping of rock where they had been taking shelter and throwing their magic at the drow, as the party stared dumbly at the havoc they'd wreaked.

The elven slave turned to Harrian, shock and something approaching delight on her face. "You s-saved me! I was sure those horrid d-drow would take me t-to their vile city where they would do… who knows w-what," she declared with a slight stammer, looking as if she was about to throw her arms around him there and then.

Harrian smiled at her brightly as he evaluated the woman before him. He couldn't deny that she was attractive, even with Jaheira skulking in the background. Long, blonde hair – even if it was a little dirty – framed a face which was adorably delicate, even for an elf, and even through the darkness he could see a pair of bright blue eyes shining hopefully at him.

His smile broadened a little, and he nodded slowly. "I am glad we could help," he assured her with certainty. "A pity we did not intervene sooner, or perhaps your comrades would have survived also. I am sorry."

The elf frowned slightly, sorrow tugging a little at her expression as she looked at the two bodies, then back at Harrian. "I did not know them. They were already captives when the drow attacked the circus caravan." She paused a moment, looking pensive. "I am called Aerie, and again I thank you for your timely intervention, or I… I would be dead, for sure. You are adventurers, headed for the surface?" she asked hopefully.

Harrian shook his head. "Adventurers on a quest down here, I'm afraid. My name is Harrian Corias. My friends and I are hunting for two individuals we believe to be in the drow city of Ust Natha. We need to go there." He also paused for a moment. "We…we have no means of getting you to the surface right now. You evidently have some magical skill… if you joined with us, we will take you with us when we return to the surface, and then you would be free to go as you wish?" 


	102. A Matter of Perspective

****

Chapter 102: A Matter of Perspective

Aerie walked quietly alongside Harrian as the party carried on with its march, having stopped for an hour to root for supplies from the drow, tend to their injuries, and get better acquainted with the new group member. The swashbuckler was hanging back a little from the front to talk to her, leaving Anomen and Jaheira with the map to guide the way. She was grateful, because it helped her considerably to have someone close at hand when they were moving through this hateful place, and the others were either ones she wouldn't want near her for company – like Edwin, the suspicious wizard – or were too busy to pay her too much heed, like Minsc, who took up the rear, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of more drow or dangerous monsters of the Underdark.

The Underdark. When the slaving caravan had first been attacked, she had been hopeful, praying that it was some soldiers or adventurers there to free her. Then, when the intentions of the attackers was proven to _not _be particularly moral, she had sought out any opportunity to make the most of the chaos and flee as quickly as possible. This had not been a valid option either, when she'd been surrounded by the drow warriors and quickly shackled once again. Trussed up next to the other prisoners of the drow, they had then been pushed hard for several days, sleeping in cover at day, out only at night, until they had reached an entrance to the Underdark, entering this dark, skyless, claustrophobic she couldn't escape.

She still had the bruises from the beatings she'd received when she had first panicked, fear consuming her when they had entered the Underdark, and so she had learnt very quickly to take the fear and push it away, into a small box at the back of her mind where it couldn't erupt, under threat of pain. She had been pushing a lot of fear into that small box lately.

But now she was free, which was a very odd sensation as not much seemed to have changed. True, she wasn't shackled. And the company seemed that much more pleasant. But instead of leaving this hateful place, they were now marching onwards, and to try to find a way to get _into _the drow city, no less! It both confused and scared her, though she had no choice but to come along with these people.

And they seemed like good people – well, better than the drow, in any case. Aerie knew this wasn't hard, but the treatment she received, being almost automatically treated as an equal, being – guardedly – accepted almost without question, was something she hadn't experienced since being captured by the slavers. Though there were some parts of the group which were distinctly shady.

Harrian, the leader, seemed nice enough. He was still hanging back, talking to her, asking about her past and things about her. Though she could see the tiredness behind his eyes – that same sort of dull ache of pain which she had seen in the eyes of the many slaves she had been imprisoned with over the many, many months – he was still smiling enough in what she suspected was an attempt to raise her spirits, and joking fairly freely. She felt very safe in his company, especially as he was in charge of the group. With a leader who was treating her kindly enough, the group surely wouldn't turn too hostile to her.

Though she hadn't had quite enough time to work all of the others out, she was already getting little ideas. The half-elf at the front, Jaheira, the lightly armoured one who stood with the heavily armoured cleric Anomen, kept giving irritable little glances back in her direction before returning her attention back to the travelling at hand, directing the hapless Helmite instructions as often as she felt was necessary – which, from the irritable glances he threw back at _her_, was evidently more often than _he _felt was necessary.

Anomen had tended to her injuries when the party had stopped to recover, and though he had been very polite and gentle when seeing to her, his attention had obviously been elsewhere, as he kept looking over at where the pink-haired mage Imoen and the rather odd but amusing and fairly charming Haer'Dalis had been bickering over a piece of equipment.

Imoen had evidently won, and now wore a rather exquisite suit of elven chain the drow had stolen, passing her magical robe to a gleeful Edwin, whose own garb had been given to Aerie herself, though she had tried to refuse. Harrian had been very firm when insisting she take it, however.

Imoen and Haer'Dalis were a few paces behind the two of them right then, still bickering and jesting together, though there was the odd moment in conversation where only Imoen was speaking, and Aerie had the intense feeling of eyes boring into the back of her neck, probing in an uncomfortable manner which wasn't entirely unpleasant. She had glanced over her shoulder one time for Haer'Dalis's blue – frighteningly blue, looking as if they were made of ice or jewels – eyes to meet hers for a moment, until she blushed and looked back, embarrassed by his attentions. They were quite normal, however, she felt – she was new, an oddity, something for everyone to be curious about.

The one person who _wasn't_ curious about her, and who she was quite glad hadn't shown her any attention, was Edwin. The mage was in front, lingering behind Anomen and Jaheira and occasionally chirping up to give his unwanted and probably very irritating 'helpful' criticism, which usually won him little more than a harsh word from the harsh tongue of the druid. He seemed suspicious, frightening, and a little slimy, in ways – his oily voice and evaluating, piercing glance set Aerie's nerves off, and the less she had to do with him the better.

Harrian caught Aerie's glances around the party as he carried through the story of their adventures. He had already related the direct reason for their being here, through the dungeons of Irenicus to the catacombs of Bodhi – leaving out the soul-stealing, because he didn't want to frighten her. He simply suggested it was a matter of seeking answers and vengeance, and the wingless Avariel – she had indeed told him her own story in turn – seemed to accept this. He had been halfway through relating their adventures north near Baldur's Gate when he'd notice her attention start to drift a little. "I'm starting to bore you, aren't I."

Aerie was jerked out of her reverie, then blushed and brought her focus directly back on to him. "W-what?" Her mind caught up quickly, and her blush deepened. "Oh! No, not at all, Harrian, no… I was just – just thinking. There is… lots to consider."

Harrian nodded slowly. "It must be overwhelming, to be freed so suddenly, though I'm sorry that you're still stuck down here with us. If we could get you to the surface, we would, but it's just not possible right now."

She returned the nod. "I know. I'm just grateful you ran into those horrible drow when you did. If you hadn't… well, I'd probably be in the city already!" She attempted a brave smile, which he returned obligingly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ah yes, those eyes. Though she had not seen her dear Uncle Quayle since the circus had sold her to those slavers, useless to them as she was with her wings amputated, she could still remember his teachings. He had told her that many people said that the eyes were the windows to a person's soul, and she believed it, seeing the truth in it many times.

Harrian's eyes were a deep brown, and almost disconcerting in their darkness. They would light up, animatedly, when he was amused or enthusiastic, and grow even darker when he was becoming sombre. She had managed to work out whether or not he was being serious or just teasing her on occasions over the past few hours depending on his eyes, and there seemed to be a lot of Harrian's character in those eyes.

That wasn't quite what attracted her attention to them. True, they were intriguing, and almost eerily beautiful, but no, it wasn't that which set her off. What set her off was just how very, very empty they seemed, so very haunted.

Jaheira's voice cut through the line, again jerking them from their joint reveries and moderately ridiculous stares into each others' eyes. "We have reached the cave! Harrian, do you have the gem?"

Harrian's head snapped around to face the druid, and he blinked quickly, still returning to consciousness. "Huh? What?"

"The gem. Do you have it?" Jaheira seemed surprisingly patient as she spoke, but from the way Anomen was sidling away from her, she had evidently been blowing off a considerable amount of steam at him.

He nodded at last, still blinking, and stepped forwards, pulling the gem out and evidently deciding that right at this minute, he had no problems in playing leader. The party gathered around him as they stared into the darkness of the cave the Svirfneblin had sent them to. There was a long silence.

"It's very… dark," Imoen said at last, uncomfortably.

"Have no fear, the gem takes care of that, my dear," Haer'Dalis rhymed, then looked briefly pleased with himself enough to miss Anomen's unmasked glower, which Imoen seemed to purposefully ignore.

Aerie unconsciously clung to Harrian's arm, also missing the look of disgust this elicited from Jaheira. "Do – do we have to go down there?" she stammered nervously, looking distinctly unhappy.

He patted her on the arm absently, tossing the gem up and down in one hand. "I'm afraid so. But this gem _will_ handle this, so the gnomes said. Off we go, then," Harrian declared, a little absently, as he led the group onwards and into the darkness of the cavern.


	103. Behind a Mask

****

Chapter 103: Behind a Mask

Shadows were chased away by the gem Harrian held out as the small stone emitted a strange, apparently weak light which yet somehow penetrated the darkness. The party, by unspoken consent, stuck close together, Minsc taking up the rear, as they entered the blackness of the cave.

Harrian could feel Aerie still clinging to his left arm, was aware of Jaheira standing distinctly closer to his right side than she normally would, was sure he could feel Imoen's breath on the back of his neck, and from Edwin's mumbling, it didn't seem as if the Red Wizard was too far away. He was certain that Anomen and Haer'Dalis would also be close in the pack as the group huddled.

This was ridiculous. Harrian stepped ahead and turned to face the rest of the party, Aerie detaching herself from him. The thief raised the stone so he could see the others better, then gave them what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "You know… how about the rest of you wait outside whilst Imoen and I scout ahead, then check back with you?" he suggested lightly.

The reply he received consisted of random mumbling, which he took as an agreement as Imoen nodded slowly and stepped up next to him. "Good idea, Harry," she replied perkily, adjusting her suit of elven chainmail – a prize she seemed particularly pleased with, as it granted her freedom of movement, protection, and didn't hinder her spell-casting.

Harrian merely shrugged as he turned and started forwards in the cave, the gemstone held high to chase away the shadows of this strange darkness… a darkness not even the infravision of Jaheira could penetrate, but this strange rock could. Who knew what the Svirfneblin had enchanted in their millennia underground?

Imoen stepped up beside him, no longer seeming as panicked now they proceeded calm and cautiously. Stealth seemed to keep her distinctly braver, and she threw him a lopsided grin as they proceeded. "So, what do you think of this new member of our party?"

Harrian gave her a sideways glance which told as much as it needed to in its dubious nature. "She's hardly a new member, Im… she's here because she has nowhere else to go, we can't get her to the surface, and we can't abandon her here. She has skills which should be of value, and can make herself useful in this quest."

Imoen chuckled dryly. "Yes, because in a party where we have a cleric, a druid, and two mages, we need someone with both arcane and divine magic," the pink-haired mage declared brightly, her grin broadening.

He paused, and turned to face her. "Are you suggesting that we just leave her here?" he inquired challengingly. "Abandon her, in the middle of the Underdark, alone, unprotected, with no way of getting out?"

She shook her head, her smirk disappearing, but there was a trace of humour in her eyes, the reason for which Harrian couldn't fathom. "No, of course not. That would just be really unfair and unkind."

"It would," Harrian agreed, carrying onwards as they descended the slope of the cave. "She's been through a lot; she told me her whole story. Captured by slavers, where she was kept in conditions so horrific her wings had to be amputated… and the wounds sealed up with a flaming torch." He shuddered. "I can't imagine that."

"Probably because you don't have wings," Imoen replied quietly, then glanced over at him. "And you're saying _you _haven't suffered some fairly horrific physical torture over the past few months?" she continued, her voice still low.

Harrian grimaced, then glanced up and met her eye –

__

A knife, cutting, biting through the flesh in his abdomen, sending piercing pain throughout his entire body, his screams of agony, screams for mercy falling on deaf ears as the masked figure made the precision cuts, ignoring his torture, evaluating his body as the blood rose…

– and looked away again as he saw the same memories reflected in her eyes. He shuddered again, shrugging. "Well, yes," he said, his throat suddenly very dry. "The slavers was attacked by drow raiders, and she ended up here. Quite a horrific story." Suddenly, he was a little less enthusiastic about his sympathy for Aerie – not that she didn't deserve it – than he had been a few moments ago.

"At least we both have all of our body parts," Imoen agreed, nodding slowly, not bringing up the subject of what they'd lost instead. "I would think that –"

She stopped talking as he came to a sudden halt, grabbing her by the arm. A turn in the cave had led them to a giant underground cavern, huge and imposing, reaching up high above their heads. The walls shone and sparkled in the light emitted by the gemstone, reflecting off until the entire cavern was illuminated.

That wasn't what was so impressive, however. What really left them lost for words was the presence of a great, majestic silver dragon standing sedately in the centre of the cavern, and looking at them with what they thought could have been a querying expression. Harrian gulped.

"Greetings, Bhaalspawn," it said, in a voice which was silky-smooth yet terrifying at the same time. "I have been waiting for you for several days now, and I am glad you have finally made your way here. Supervisor Blackenrock assured me you would arrive much sooner." A note of irritation crept in. "Stop quivering; bring the rest of your number to me, if you would hear what I have to say."

Harrian gaped for a moment, glad the rest of the party wasn't there to see his complete amazement at the presence of a silver dragon. "I… I shall indeed… I trust… you know of why we are here?"

The dragon tilted its head in what could be considered a nod. "I do know. I believe that I can help you." There was a pause, a beat of silence, then it passed very quickly as their eyes met. "If you can help me. Now, go and fetch your comrades, and quickly, for Adalon does not tolerate laziness when there is no time to be wasted."

Harrian blinked, then nodded in what was almost a bow, grabbing a stunned and still-gaping Imoen and hurrying back the way they had come.

* *

Minsc edged his way towards where Aerie stood, pacing a little and anxiously glancing over at the entrance to the cave where Harrian and Imoen had disappeared to. She looked over as he reached her, her expression reading fear for a moment, then it was replaced by a speedy mask of calm. "Oh! Minsc! Sorry, I d-didn't hear you arriving then."

The large ranger smiled toothily at her. "That is alright, little Aerie. When Minsc wants to, he can move so silently that none see or hear him." He paused a moment, looking a little bashful. "You look very lost there, little Aerie. I was wondering if you would like to meet Boo – maybe he could help you."

Aerie looked a little put out to have a hamster suddenly thrust in her face, but decided that Minsc, although a little disconcerting, did not seem actively dangerous, and thus she could probably tolerate a rodent being thrown around in exchange for comparative safety. She smiled a little despite herself at both the ranger's hopeful face and the small hamster, and nodded slowly. "H-hello, Boo." A quick glance at Minsc. "He is a… a miniature giant space hamster?"

A few metres away, Edwin rolled his eyes as Anomen knelt beside him, fiddling around with the contents of his pack. Just by their left, Jaheira was pacing restlessly, her eye constantly on the entrance – mirroring Aerie's actions of a few moments ago, but the druid would probably sock anyone in the mouth if they dared point this out.

"Ah, so the asinine ranger decides to present his mangy rodent to the incognisant cripple. What a lovely image (perhaps it would look better in red, or with a border of fire? Yes, fire…)," Edwin mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he watched them.

There was a sigh, and Anomen straightened up. "Tell me, mage," he started slowly, in the tone of one who has suffered much. "Why is it that I tolerate your presence? Not your presence in the party, for that is Harrian's prerogative, but why indeed I decide to come anywhere near you if you must travel in our company?"

"Because you are but a simple lackey, and must jump to the whip of the ringmaster?" Edwin suggested, raising an eyebrow at the Helmite. Anomen gave him a blank but moderately warning glance. "You… find my intellect stimulating in the hope that you could emulate me and one day achieve greatness of my level? (unlikely, though seeing this baboon frolic around in the robes he would be bound to trip up would be amusing… though he is probably used to lengthy garments such as robes and dresses from whatever it is he gets up to during weekends…)" Again, Anomen looked quite unconvinced, and his expression was open in that easy, threatening way. Edwin rolled his eyes once more. "Because you need an ally against that insufferable tiefling, the one your leader's sister is so very fond of," he answered blandly at last.

"Ah. That would be it. Because I must confess, I was wondering a little. It couldn't be for the conversation," Anomen sighed, shaking his head. His exasperated expression shifted for one of curious suspicion as he watched Haer'Dalis move over to where Minsc and Aerie were talking, the bard looking as if he was ready to act flamboyantly, as always.

"My dearest Aerie!" the tiefling started in a tone loud enough to wake the dead, and certainly catch the attention of everyone there – even the distracted Jaheira. "You seem so sad, my… dove. My mourning dove, yes." There was a moment's beat as Haer'Dalis waved a hand vaguely, as if to aid his mind as it worked quickly. "It is quite understandable. Your trials must have been lengthy, and quite horrific to have endured. Horrific indeed… tell me, how did you ever manage? Have no fear, however, you are in the company of some of the most accomplished adventurers ever to walk Faerûn – or under it, indeed! – and no harm shall come to you now. I, Haer'Dalis, promise and assure you of _that_."

Edwin, in an unoriginal move, rolled his eyes yet again. "Bard! Do not encourage the wench. Did you not _hear _her incessant whining as we marched?" His voice took up a slightly mocking tone. "Her precious wings, so cruelly amputated as she was torn from her home in the clouds! Bah! She is nothing more than a bird who has had its wings clipped, and should have been left to be eaten by that troll, all trussed up like a chicken… very apt."

Minsc looked outraged. "The evil wizard will not talk about little Aerie in that way! Aerie is very kind, and Edwin very evil, and he shall not make her sad, _shall not make her _–" It was only a warning and probably very scary glance from where Jaheira stood, watching them, that made the Rashemani ranger stop in his tracks and pause for a moment.

Anomen took advantage of the moment to shift the focus away from Minsc, raising an eyebrow at Edwin. "Again, we see the intense unkindness your type seem to emanate, Thayvian," he sighed, with a modicum but not an excessive amount of venom and irritation. He turned to Aerie, who was looking hurt but a little unsure. "Pay him no heed, Aerie; he is nothing more than a bitter, bitter man, and you are undeserving of his venom."

"Exactly as I was about to put it, my hound!" Haer'Dalis replied, a little too quickly as he turned back to the Avariel. "Our red-cloaked sparrow-hawk is nothing but a bit-player in this drama of heroes and romances, and is hardly someone whose thoughts should affect you all that much."

Aerie smiled a little coyly as she looked at him, laughing very softly and nodding slowly. "I like how pretend people are birds," she told him quietly.

Haer'Dalis looked a little taken aback by this, but, as was always his way, there was a certain air of how it was all judged and planned as the actor in him shone through. "Pretend? My dear and mourning dove, 'tis not pretending! We are all frail as birds and mad as hounds, each one of us…" He paused for a long moment, his voice trailing off a little, and for the first time there was none of his usual aplomb or drama in his voice or even his eyes as he stared at her. Anomen wondered for a heartbeat if this serious and somehow intense Haer'Dalis was the Haer'Dalis Imoen saw. "Aye, each one of us but you, somehow…" the bard continued solemnly, contemplatively.

"You fly above us all, no anger, no rage to tie you down," he continued slowly, thoughtfully. "Aye… you're right Aerie. You are no hound, nor shall I ever name you one; you have my pledge," the bard told her soberly.

"You promise?" Aerie breathed, everyone else suddenly suffering from the impression that they weren't present at this quiet and somehow disconcerting little scene.

Haer'Dalis had gripped her hand intently, and had the same look in his eyes now that Anomen remembered from the campfire on the road back from Trademeet, so many weeks ago. "Aye, I promise, dove," he whispered sincerely, nodding.

There was a second's pause as everyone stared – Minsc confused, Anomen evaluating, Edwin a little disgusted, Jaheira thoughtful – then a light cough and a shuffling of footsteps jerked them all out of their reveries, and they turned to see Harrian and Imoen, both wearing equally odd expressions, standing at the entrance to the cave.

The swashbuckler took a step forwards. "You had better follow me now. You're not going to _believe _this…" 


	104. Requests of a Silver Dragon

****

Chapter 104: Requests of a Silver Dragon

The party was more than a little tentative as they followed Harrian and Imoen back through the cave, heading for the cavern where Adalon waited, doubtless impatiently. They were distinctly less fearful, however, than they had been upon their first venture into the blackness of the cave – either from the guidance of Harrian and Imoen, who led them confidently, or from other thoughts taking precedence after the bickering that had been held outside the lair.

Either way, none spoke as they proceeded cautiously yet suitable speedily through the caves, following the light of the gemstone, until they reached the central cavern, where Adalon still waited… and let out a collective gasp of surprise.

"Harrian," Jaheira started, slowly and cautiously, though not tearing her eyes away from the great dragon. "When we are to approach something like this, you would do best to _explain_ first, instead of just telling us we won't believe what you have seen and then running off."

Harrian, a little more at ease with his party behind him and his prior knowledge of Adalon's presence, shrugged. "Yes, but… I wanted to see the expressions on your faces," he told her, before turning away as she moved to glare at him. Even as he looked up at Adalon, he could feel the druid's eyes burning into the back of his skull in a most disconcerting manner, but tried to shrug the feeling off.

"Ah… Adalon. I have returned, as you bid me, and with me I bring my comrades. Speak what you would have of us, for if we can help each other in some way, then I shall not hesitate to extend an offer of aid to you," he declared, a little more eloquent than he usually was, but not without cause – Harrian knew when certain tones were needed for certain people and situations, and here the more eloquent, polite and charismatic he was, the better.

"Indeed, and welcome to my lair. I have watched your progress with great interest, most particularly your aiding Goldander Blackenrock with the Balor which would have otherwise killed the Svirfneblin," the dragon replied benevolently, but as if she was merely tolerating politeness for the moment to reach her aims, and was slowly losing patience with such a stance.

Harrian smiled slightly, giving another nod which was so low it was almost a bow. "Ah, my lady, you honour me with your words."

"I'm sure I do, but flattery is not why I have allowed you to come here." The silver dragon seemed amused, slightly, but there was also a note of warning in her tone of voice. "Do not think me too generous; I am not as tolerant as others of my kind." She paused, and drew herself up to her full, impressive height. "I am Adalon, the guardian, and I have done my duty as well as I have been able for many a century. I was not the first, but I know the history."

Beside Harrian, Imoen stood, still looking as awed as she had seemed when they had first arrived in the cavern together. "And you are… truly… a magnificent sight, my lady. I am awed," she murmured, in a whisper the walls of the cavern picked up and echoed around so it was loud enough to hear. Harrian made a mental note to not try to discuss things quietly in front of Adalon.

A note of impatience crept into Adalon's voice. "Yes, yes, of course, but I have little time for your starry-eyed fawning. Listen well to what I say," she insisted, sounding moderately irritated with the party already.

Imoen looked a little taken aback and sheepish, but when Anomen caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic and slightly encouraging smile, her expression snapped back up again to an emotionless one… even if a little awe still remained.

Slowly, Adalon began to explain her plight; how she was the guardian of the ancient temple of the surface elves above, which marked where the drow first descended to the Underdark. She explained how Ust Natha was founded as a symbol for the dark elves, was fought over regularly, though she watched over the area and maintained peace for as long as was possible, governing hostilities and bringing them to an end.

"But there has been a crime here recently, and I can no longer honour my commitment. I will ask your assistance, and in return I will aid you," Adalon said at last, a note of urgency creeping into her voice.

"Speak on, then," Harrian urged. "I would hear what you –"

"Silence!" Adalon shouted suddenly, and her loud voice echoed around the room disconcertingly and loud enough to deafen them all. There was a moment as the party clapped their hands over their ears, Haer'Dalis with a rueful mutter regarding the excellent acoustics of the cavern, and they paused until silence remained.

"I… I will tell you when you can speak," Adalon continued, quieter now, but with the same note of threat as before. "This is a _very _important matter, and I will not tolerate any interruption!"

"Of course, my lady Adalon," Jaheira spoke up suddenly, much to everyone's surprise. She swatted Harrian's arm lightly, giving him a warning look. "Harrian, do keep quiet."

"The Drow respected the borders of this place for centuries, only venturing out for sport and small skirmishes. That was the balance," Adalon elaborated slowly. "The two you seek, this Bodhi and Jon Irenicus, I believe they have made a deal with the Drow to further their own aims, and offered a way to tip the scales against their Elven enemy."

Edwin looked incredulous at this, stepping forwards with all the aplomb a Red Wizard of Thay could muster, which was quite a bit. "And they just strolled on by? Pardon me, madam, but you are no Svirfneblin begging for help. Did you not sense their… despotic nature?" he demanded in disbelief.

Adalon gave the Thayvian a piercing look until he mumbled something under his breath and backed off. The dragon paused, then regained her serene composure. "You may ask why I do not extend my influence. I cannot. Irenicus bargained with my most prized possession. He violated my lair and stole from me." There was a pause, as if the dragon was actually struggling with her words. "They have taken my eggs."

Harrian grimaced a little. "That is most unfortunate," he murmured, wishing he could summon a bit more outrage on the dragon's behalf. "You have my regrets. I assume they are holding them hostage, threatening you with their destruction if you venture out?"

"I have been informed that to move from my lair is to cause the destruction of my eggs," Adalon agreed, regret and exasperation creeping into her voice. "It is the final straw in a long list of atrocities I have been witness to."

Haer'Dalis seemed thoughtful at this. "To stave off your wrath they have provoked it beyond imagining. These are impressive risks they are willing to take," he mused, looking a little devious, as if his creative mind was ticking over and whirring inside his head.

"You must retrieve them for me. Do this, and I will reveal a safe escape route to leave the Underdark, one that emerges close to where Irenicus plots his next move," Adalon told Harrian firmly, ignoring Haer'Dalis.

Harrian paused, frowning. "We don't exactly… wish to escape to the surface; not just yet. We came here for a reason. We need to find Irenicus and discover what his plans are – all we know is that he is here, employing the aid of the drow for some… unknown reason. We do not know if he is even still here, or where he is on the surface."

Adalon made a noise which sounded something like a sigh as she lowered her head so it was level with Harrian's body. He blinked as those deep, dark eyes became close enough that he could see his own reflection in them, and paused, waiting for her to continue. "Irenicus' plans are very simple. To what end, I do not know, but he seeks to besiege the Elven city of Suldanesselar. He cannot do so without the aid of the drow, and is encourage them to venture forth from the Underdark with an army like they have not done in decades, or even centuries. _This _is what Irenicus has planned." She straightened up again. "He is no longer here. He has moved on, beyond Ust Natha. If you wish to follow him, return to the surface, you will need my help. Retrieve my eggs."

"How?" Harrian asked pensively. "You cannot expect the eight of us to go against the might of an entire Drow city – that is… suicidal in its nature, at the very best!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.

"I realise the danger, but there is a far more subtle approach which you would do well to employ to use, if you wish to live – and it is in my best interests that you _do _live…" Adalon paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. "You will pose as a group of Drow I dispatched recently, a party from another city headed for Ust Natha. They were foolish enough to wander into my lair, and it is from what they carried that I know of the Drow's – and Irenicus' – intentions. I will transform you so that you have the appearance of Drow. In the city, they shall not see through the illusion I shall create."

Jaheira shifted her feet uncomfortably. "To become such a hated thing… I do not look forward to that," she mumbled, but the echoes picked it up and again made it loud enough to hear. Adalon's expression didn't flicker as everyone else froze tentatively.

"When you arrive at the gate, tell them you are from the city of Ched Nasad, and that you seek sanctuary within Ust Natha," the dragon told Harrian calmly.

Harrian straightened up, glancing at everyone else. They looked faintly nervous, but nodded stoically, and he turned back to Adalon. "Very well… cast your spells, and let this be done," he told her, as firmly as he could manage.

When the dragon began speaking again, it was in a low chant which seemed from a void which was not her own. Arcane energy crackled and gathered above Adalon's head, pulsating and shifting ethereally, until the chanting of the silver dragon was done… and the gathering of magic rocketed towards them. Harrian closed his eyes, felt a wave of heat and a tingle run through him… then nothing. He opened his eyes, and looked down at his hand.

Dark skin greeted him, a deep, ebony hue which was as beautiful as it was disconcerting. He had the horrible feeling of looking at someone else's hand, for, although his own hand wasn't that chunky, the fingers were too delicate and slim… in fact, he looked as if he had lost about twenty pounds, and although he knew it was just an illusion, not an actual transformation, he felt it too.

The rogue raised his head, and was met with another unfamiliar sight – one of his comrades, similarly transformed. The shape of the face and shade of the skin were both different, but there was something in the eyes – a different colour though they were – which was a little familiar. "Anomen?" His voice sounded different to him, more lyrical. "What are you – " A pause as he realised the words he were speaking were not common, but Drow, yet he could understand them as easily as anything.

"It is done." Adalon's voice echoed through the cavern, jerking them all out of their amazement. "You now resemble the denizens of the Drow city, complete with a house insignia that will not draw undue attention. I suggest you act like Drow when speaking to anyone you meet.

"You will also have knowledge of the language of the Drow, and your speech will be heard as though you have spoken their dark tongue all your life."

"We noticed," Harrian replied, still a little stunned. "We will do what you can to retrieve your eggs."

"I thank you. Remember, you are from the city of Ched Nasad. Take a Drow name as well. Use 'Veldrin,' it is commonly used," the dragon declared impassively.

The drow-who-seemed-like-Anomen gave a slight smile, which had a twist to it that left no doubt in Harrian's mind just who this stranger was. "Very well… lead on, Veldrin, into this dark pit of oblivion…"


	105. Rule Supreme

****

Chapter 105: Rule Supreme

There was surprisingly little distance between Adalon's home and the entrance to Ust Natha, and it was a little disconcerting to see how easily they could have wandered to the wrong place – they may have had a better map from the Duergar, but a slightly wrong navigation and they'd have found themselves faced with the guards at the gate.

Said guards seemed a little surprised to see a group of their size approaching Ust Natha, having probably only anticipated a party of, perhaps, five at the most. So to see eight well-armed and armoured drow approaching as if they knew exactly what they were doing had to be a little… disconcerting.

One of the three drow standing at the gate, who stood with a bearing which seemed to suggest that he was in charge, straightened up and reached for the hilt of his sword guardedly. "You, _hold_! What is your purpose here? There are no scheduled patrols on this day! Identify yourselves?"

Imoen, Aerie and Haer'Dalis seemed to falter a little at this, but the party carried on as Harrian strode forwards confidently, almost oozing of an arrogance, and approached the guard on duty.

It was odd, the swashbuckler reflected, to be in this body. Harrian himself wasn't a particularly large man, but in height he would usually stand a good few inches above any elf, and was more solidly built, even though in frame he was more wiry than muscular – human frame, at least. Now, however, he was just at eye-level with the drow, and a little slimmer, removing him of a good bit of his confidence in this encounter. However, he was quite used to confronting those bigger than himself, and just because this man was a drow didn't mean he had to be too taken aback by this…

He straightened up and gave the guard at the door a haughty glance, managing to look down his nose at the drow. "I am Veldrin, of Ched Nasad, and I do not appreciate being questioned by a mere… guard." Harrian shrugged, brushing a hand against the drow's house insignia a little disparagingly. "You should have been expecting us, if you knew how to perform your duties."

"My apologies; I was merely doing my _duty _in questioning." The drow at the doors didn't sound all that apologetic at all, and there was a tone lurking there which was actually insubordinate, but as the eyes of the two men met, he evidently decided that friction would be best avoided. The guard stepped back and gestured to the doors, which his two companions moved to open. "The city of Ust Natha welcomes you, Veldrin of Ched Nasad. There would normally be an extensive questioning, but we were expecting your party… yet your late arrival has disrupted the plans of Solaufein." This last sentence was spoken with a nearly-hidden smirk, as if the guard knew something Harrian didn't and was delighted by this fact.

"Enter quickly, and seek out Solaufein for his counsel, in the Male Fighters' Society – it should be easy enough to find, past the tavern and the Female Fighters' Society, and before the Spider Pit. He will instruct you on your conduct and activities within the city of Ust Natha. Be aware that your welcome is conditional, and that if you fail to meet with him or fail him in any other way, you will be hunted for sport by all that care to join in," the guard continued, seeming positively delighted by this prospect.

Harrian raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth lifting in something of a sneer. "Thank you," he murmured derisively, before nodding curtly at the open doors to gesture to the rest of the party to follow him as he turned and swept inside, glad that he still had his cloak and could thus sweep with a suitable amount of panache.

As they stepped inside the great city, the doors slamming shut beside them, Harrian quietly let out a sigh of relief. The party huddled slightly, shifting around to discuss, whilst trying not to look too suspicious to the city dwellers, most of whom only gave them brief, cursory glances of only the slightest curiosity.

"That went well," Harrian murmured. "Now, to find this Solaufein. The Male Fighters' Society… before the Spider pit." He suppressed a shudder. "Gods… I hate spiders," he mumbled, in only the slightest of whispers which wouldn't be overheard unless someone was standing literally next to their shoulders.

"That could be a problem here," Anomen pointed out dryly. "I'd suggest that most of us keep quiet unless we know how to act correctly… we do not wish to draw undue suspicion to ourselves."

Jaheira nodded. "Indeed… remember that, of course, we are drow, and should act as such," she declared, straightening up, her voice lifting a little as the party, in one motion, turned to carry on further into the city.

Harrian had to admit that it was a very impressive sight. So few surfacers got the opportunity to see something like this, something like the Underdark, and even fewer gained access to a drow city and emerged to tell the tale – as they hoped they would. He fell in line beside Edwin, who was doing his best not to stare, and merely seemed to be peering around with a vaguely analytical look.

"Is this enough payment for you, Edwin?" Harrian murmured out of the corner of his mouth, not looking at the Thayvian as he joined him in staring in wonder at the drow city. "A sight such as this?"

"It… helps," the Red Wizard replied dryly. "But remember, I am not here for the simple pleasure of it. I have aims and aspirations, and one of them is due payment. My spirits are lifted a little, as this place seems _far_ more promising than the caves of before…"

Harrian rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, you shall have your money. But remember that this is not our first priority. Our first priority is to find the eggs, and then to gather as much information on Irenicus as possible. Any gold… is a bonus." He stepped ahead, choosing to ignore Edwin's mumbled cursing at that, and moved up to the front of the group, next to Jaheira.

"Male Fighters' Society?" he asked lightly, hoping that the druid had been keeping a sharp enough eye to see these things.

Sure enough, Jaheira nodded curtly, gesturing to one of the buildings ahead of them on the walkways within the sprawling city. "We have passed the Female Fighters' Society, the Spider pits are ahead, so this must be it."

The party gathered around the door, trying to hide their slight nerves, and followed Harrian in as he stepped into the building with his usual aplomb, drawing his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders.

Inside, pacing a little impatiently, stood a tall, imperious-looking drow male, who walked with the manner of one with authority and who was not best pleased. He gave them a scathing look as they entered. "You are the newcomers that have been sent my way, I see. As if I do not have enough to accomplish in a day without suffering for the welfare of the weak," he murmured dryly, shaking his head. "There is no 'refuge' to be had in Ust Natha, fools. We pay for our existence here with blood and you shall do the same."

His pacing came to a halt, and he straightened up before Harrian, who had managed to assume enough of an air to be recognised as leader as he stood at the head of the company. "My name is Solaufein, and for now you shall do as I say to prove your worth to the Matron Mothers." Solaufein paused ominously. "Failure is death."

There was silence for a beat, then the drow began to pace again, this time with more of a predatory than impatient air. "And just because there are females with you, do not think to challenge me. You are foreigners… no better than slaves until the Matron Mothers say otherwise." He paused, and rolled his eyes. "Let us get your shepherding underway. Do you have a name, vagrant, or should I just refer to you as 'the one I trample underfoot'?"

Again, Harrian assumed a sneer, and had a distinct feeling that he was going to be going through a lot of déjà vu with these introductions in the drow city. "My name is Veldrin, and I _will _be given the respect I deserve," he said quietly, keeping a note of menace in his voice.

Solaufein let out a short, amused bark of laughter. "You shall get none from me, whatever your achievements elsewhere may have won you. But you have fire, and spirit, and this should serve you well in Ust Natha, _if _you are able to prove yourself." He shrugged, and waved a hand dismissively. "No matter. Anyhow, the Matron Mother has shown an interest in you and your party, and wishes to avail herself of your skills. This is something of an honour and a privilege one of your limited status would do well to take advantage of." 

"I am here to serve the Matron Mother, however I can do so," Harrian replied, trying to keep a note of dryness out of his voice.

Solaufein seemed to hear it, regardless, but his grim smile suggested amusement more than anything else. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, a Handmaiden shall meet you at the entrance platform to the city, and tell you what needs to be done." He shrugged. "Doubtless I will have to be there, to herd you on your mission like a nursing mother. If you are at all intelligent, I would not be late," the drow male declared, straightening up again and striding out the door of the Male Fighters' Society.

Silence fell upon the party as they all breathed sighs, partly of relief, partly of just relieved tension. Anomen turned to Harrian, frowning deeply. "This is an evil place you have brought us, Harrian. But I suspect that we must act the eager supplicants if we are to pass inspection, for I feel eyes upon us as we speak," the cleric declared darkly, a frown on his face. "We should step quickly to comply. The suspicion of the drow is almost palpable, and any wrong move will surely bring their foul magics down upon us."

Harrian nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. He raised a hand to scratch his chin, and seemed slightly surprised at the fact that it met nothing but smooth skin. "Hmph. Bloody beardless drow." There was a pause as he glanced up at the others, nodding again to Anomen. "Agreed. But tonight, we shall rest well, and prepare for… whatever in the Hells is in store for us on the morrow."


	106. City of Darkness

****

Chapter 106: City of Darkness

The inn of Ust Natha had welcomed them with the usual greetings reserved for the unproven outsider – a dark, almost mocking suspicion, which had been only slightly assuaged by the claiming of the most expensive rooms of the establishment, as well as a private chamber for the party's personal use. They were sure that there would be matters for them to discuss away from prying ears, and although Harrian had warned them all that surely nowhere was safe to talk completely freely, it would doubtless be far more secure to conference in a private chamber than in the common room of the inn.

They had dined there, partaking in the fare of the Underdark and managing to be convincing in their apparent delight in the luxurious cuisine servants had brought up to them before dismissing them and settling down for private talk. Edwin had placed a few silencing wards around the room which would hopefully go unnoticed but permit them a distinct amount more security than they would otherwise enjoy.

Dinner had been quite a sombre affair by all means, everyone knowing that they could not relax or enjoy any luxuries whilst in this place, and prepared to simply fill their stomachs before resting, gathering much-needed strength. Whatever endeavour Solaufein had for them the next day, they would have to meet it fully prepared, and that did not allow them much by way of opportunities to waste time or energy.

Jaheira made her excuses and departed once they were done with their eating, and Edwin shortly after. Anomen and Minsc followed suit within a few minutes of fairly fruitless conversation, and so the four remaining managed to gain a little entertainment by antics and jokes of Haer'Dalis, bringing some badly needed, if not terribly convincing, smiles to his distinctly dour audience.

The tiefling chuckled dryly as his latest joke received a reaction which was more polite than amused, and shook his head ruefully. "In faith, you are all far too dark of nature for my jests to penetrate this gloom and bring light. It strikes me indeed as if even the jolliest caper would have little effect until we leave this sordid locale, for it places a blanket of gloom upon even the brightest hearts. I believe I shall retire for the night."

Imoen nodded, then yawned widely. "Ah, yeah, I can see that being a good idea," the pink-haired mage agreed, standing up and stretching. "I'm getting a little sleepy… might do to go snooze for a few hours, be bright and early tomorrow… g'night," she said to Harrian and Aerie, leaving promptly, with the bard most willingly in tow.

Aerie shifted a little shyly, standing up and straightening her robes. "Perhaps – perhaps I too should go sleep. It has been a long day, and I would not wish to hold the party up tomorrow from being too tired," she said slowly.

Harrian gave her a cautious, very quick glance, a note of slight pleading crossing his face as he stood. "Ah… are you sure? You were no bother today as it was. I wouldn't get too wound up about inconveniencing us – we're a fairly flexible party," he told her, in something of a rush.

She gave him a slow, evaluating look as she leant slightly against the table. "Should… should the leader of our party also not be fully rested?" Her tone was hesitant, as she clearly wasn't about to challenge him or his decision, but there was a subtle note in there which also suggested that he heed her words.

Harrian snorted, rolling his eyes. "In most cases, you have a point, Aerie, but for myself…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Sleep, for me, tends to be that less restful than even staying awake." There was a pause as he shifted uncomfortably. "You see… if you leave, then there'll be nobody for me to talk to, and so I will probably drop off to sleep even if I do return to my own room. I don't… I don't sleep well," he admitted tentatively, and it was the truth. The nightmares which tugged at him weren't the dreams triggered by his Bhaaltaint that instilled him with so much fear – no, these dreams were of a far more personal and in some way terrifying nature, suggestions of which had lingered in his slumber ever since his soul had been taken but had stepped up many paces since their arrival in the Underdark… or since his willing transition to the Slayer; Harrian wasn't sure.

Aerie considered this for a moment, before moving to talk around the table and pull up the chair next to him, shifting it around so they were facing each other. "I don't sleep that well either. There is a lot which… which haunts me," she confessed quietly.

"I suppose you'll fit in perfectly with this party, then," Harrian sighed deeply. "There's a lot which hangs over our heads. A lot that is in the balance, and a lot that we fight for. Some… have lost more than others. Some have more to gain than others." He paused, and fixed her with an intense look. "What haunts you, Aerie?"

The Avariel took a deep, slightly shuddering breath as she gathered her thoughts. "My wings. The loss of my wings." There was a pause as Harrian searched desperately for a reply and Aerie sought for some way to continue. "I try… I try not to think about it. How it was done, why it was done the pain involved in the process, and what it means. I do my best to not think about it during the daylight hours – or what passes for daylight down in this place. But at night… when I sleep… it comes back."

Hesitantly, at more than something of a loss for words, Harrian reached out tentatively and placed a hand on her shoulder, patting it slightly, gently, his mind racing for an answer. "Do you… do you wish to talk about it?"

Aerie closed her eyes, lowering her head, and there was a pause. When she lifted it again, her eyes were hard, her expression resolute. "It is not… not easy for me to remember, Harrian. What I mean to say is, the images are there, the feelings, but to move them into words… is not." She paused, cocking her head to one side a little. "Lower your hand."

Harrian frowned, confused. "What?"

She reached out gently and took him by the wrist, pulling his arm down slightly for his hand to run down her back… until it reached the imperfections, the bumps – the _stumps_ – on her back which had been so far hidden by the folds of her cloak but were now very real and very noticeable.

He yanked his hand back almost instinctively. "Gods! What are…" Harrian's voice trailed off as he saw the expression on her face, and silently kicked himself. "What did they _do _to you, Aerie?"

A collected mask crossed her face to hide the slight sadness, and she shook her head. "The slavers… they kept me in a cage which was so small I could barely stand up straight. My wings atrophied and withered… and so, to _save_ me –" the words were spat out with surprising venom, "– they amputated them… in the night, with a rusty saw, closing the wounds with flaming torches. To save me." She sighed deeply, and there was an age of ache and pain in the sound. "I wish they had left me to die."

Harrian looked even more horrified at this story. "Gods, Aerie… Gods!" was all he could manage to stammer.

She paused, then looked at him for a long moment. "You too have lost a part of you… something that makes up your very being, and leaves you feeling as if you are lost to the world, chained to something less than you once had, something which weighs you down, pulls you down… what happened?"

Harrian shifted uncomfortably as the tables turned, and lowered his head. "Yes… my problem. Fair's fair, I suppose… you deserve to know why we're here, what we're doing, if you are to be pulled through this adventure with us." He hesitated for a moment, then looked up at her. "We are here following a man called Jon Irenicus. He captured some of us – Jaheira, Minsc, Imoen, and myself – some months ago, submitting us to endless tortures in his dungeon until we were eventually able to break free. Eventually, however, in hunting him down for answers, he hunted _us_, capturing us once more, and before we could liberate ourselves… he stole mine and Imoen's souls."

Aerie looked utterly aghast at this tale. "Your… your souls? Why would he want your souls?"

Harrian took a deep, faltering breath. "I am a Child of Bhaal, Aerie. As is Imoen; Irenicus wanted her soul for his vampiric sister Bodhi. I do not know exactly why, nor to what end, but whatever it is, we must have our souls back. He was down here for some unknown reason, and now, according to Adalon, is ready to besiege the elven city of Suldanesselar. Perhaps he needed the drow as allies; I don't know. I don't know why he's done this, either. But we need our souls back."

Aerie considered this for a long moment, looking sheepish as she regarded him. "That… that's horrible, Harrian!" she declared at last. "I cannot imagine what… what you have suffered…" There was another long pause as the two of them regarded each other. "You must think me very foolish."

"No," the thief stressed gently, placing his hand on her shoulder again. "No. Not at all. What you have suffered… I can imagine it, as I have experienced much by way of pain, but I cannot understand it, not truly. It is beyond my reckoning, I suppose."

She looked at him slowly, a sad smile playing across her face. "I suppose those who know pain find each other," Aerie mused slowly.

Harrian nodded, a slightly more cheerful – if rueful – grin tugging at his lips, but even as he leant back in the chair, comforted by the presence of someone who knew the sort of intense agony of… of life… the words of Aerie had done little more than bring an image of Jaheira, desolate and hurt, to the forefront of his mind.


	107. So Deadly, My Dear

****

Chapter 107: So Deadly, My Dear

They had left the city very shortly after awakening, meeting up with Solaufein and the Handmaiden at the gates and being bid to embark on something of a rescue mission southwards, near the illithid city. All they had been told of who they were rescuing was 'someone important, connected to someone even _more _important' by Solaufein, who had spat the words and looked as if there was a name here which was relevant but which he didn't wish to see uttered, or at least didn't wish to taint his tongue. The expression of the drow warrior had left them all on edge, nervous in anticipation of just what it was they were supposed to intercept, but he had gone on ahead with the intention of meeting them at the designated spot.

And so, the party was faced with the challenge of attempting to navigate the Underdark once more – or, at least, Harrian was faced with that challenge, as everyone else had to cope with the problem of maintaining enough faith to follow him. But their leader seemed a little more sound of mind that day, and although he had grumbled much as they'd departed the city, once out of hearing range of Solaufein and the Handmaiden, his mood seemed a little brighter. For some reason this made Jaheira watch him like a hawk, as if this was an unusual state of affairs for the swashbuckler and made it necessary for him to have an eye kept on him.

A constant southerly route wasn't particularly hard for even the navigationally challenged Harrian, so it was not too long before they approached a massive entrance to some impressive-looking caverns, which seemed to run deep and were so dark not even Jaheira could see in them… but this was not much of a problem, as Solaufein was already waiting there, pacing a little, until he spotted them and came to a halt.

"Good, you are here. I was beginning to wonder how long I would have to remain waiting amongst these forsaken rocks before you showed up," the drow warrior sighed, straightening up and adjusting his sword belt. "Your timing could not be better. I sense that the illithids will be approaching, be in range, soon, and so I shall attempt to pull them from the astral plane so we may commence our rescue." He paused as Harrian looked a little inquisitive and hesitant for a moment, fixing the party leader with a piercing look. "You have a question, Veldrin? Make it quick; we have little time to waste."

Harrian nodded curtly. "Might I know who it is, exactly, we are here to rescue? Just so that we do not target them by mistake, of course," he replied quietly returning the hard look from the drow warrior that he had received.

"Her name is Phaere of House Despana, eldest of the Matron Mother Ardulace. Be sure that you do not harm her, even by accident," Solaufein seemed to spit the name, making little effort to hide his distaste, then shook his head dolefully. "_Especially _by accident, perhaps," he sighed. "Do not expect to be rewarded by Phaere if we are successful – she will think that the actions of we lesser drow will be our duty, and should be a reward in themselves. We have no choice in the matter."

The drow warrior paused for a long moment, raising a hand to forestall any further comments. "But enough talk. I sense the illithids' approach. Wait and I shall bring them out of the astral plane when they come close," he murmured.

"Get ready!" Harrian barked to the party, drawing the Daystar – which, under Adalon's illusion, was disguised as a normal drow blade. The group backed off a little, forming a semicircle before the entrance to the cavern, all drawing their weapons and preparing for battle. They had faced a wide variety of foes in their time, but illithids were not an enemy they had yet experienced. There was some vague mumbling coming from the back as the spellcasters prepared protection spells, and a slight fizzing of the air as energy, both arcane and divine, crackled around them.

A dozen or so monsters then appeared before them, and although Harrian was moving, sword upraised, before he was even thinking clearly, a speedy glance gave all the evaluating he needed. A single drow woman, bound and looking fairly outraged. Three strange, mesmerising, confusing creatures, extremely tall and looking like Mind Flayers from books – it was no stretch of the imagination to consider these to be illithids. And finally, eight large, hulking beasts in shells – Umber Hulks.

The yell of Minsc and a battlecry of Anomen – cut short as the cleric realised that his usual bellowing in the field of battle could be a bad idea with Solaufein and Phaere possibly listening – spurred Harrian into action as he launched himself forward, swinging his sword in a vicious blow at the nearest umber hulk. The group of monsters was evidently disoriented, having plainly not anticipated being pulled so suddenly from the astral plane as they had been by Solaufein, and so a single illithid fell to the spells of Edwin and Aerie, and a well-aimed arrow from Imoen, within seconds, as did the first umber hulk to the weapons of Harrian and Anomen.

Focusing on a single beast at a time, Harrian's mind blanked out a little other distractions, keeping open to threats and remaining vaguely aware of what was going on with the others, but not with enough freedom of movement or attention to focus fully on anything other than the fight at hand.

A clean swipe at shoulder-level cut through the second umber hulk neatly, bringing it down with a loud, defiant roar, but even as Harrian took the Daystar in a two-handed grip to move on to the next enemy, he felt the wind knocked out of him as he was hit in the stomach with something incredibly hard, if blunt, and swung with incredible force.

Feeling one of his ribs break as he fell to the floor heavily, Harrian looked up with surprise to see Anomen standing over him, raising his hand, ready to bring it down on the swashbuckler's skull within moments – but for some reason, the flail was giving him a little difficulty, and he was not handling it with his usual skill.

"Anomen?"

Harrian had just enough time to roll to one side as the flail sank into the ground where his head had been, a move the cleric should have anticipated and not allowed if he had been in his proper frame of mind… but it was clear that he wasn't. The Bhaalspawn had had only a single moment to look and think, but from the glint in the cleric's eyes, it was evident that Anomen was not entirely there – if at all.

He turned the evasion into a roll to his feet, twirling around and punching Anomen in the face with a fist already curled around the sword hilt. He had to be suffering the effects of a Domination spell, which made him more dangerous than the umber hulks – ready to kill them when their returning blows would not be lethal. He needed to be taken out in a painless way.

Harrian knew he'd have little chance of knocking the larger cleric out when he had his helmet on, even as he staggered under the thief's blow, which had cause the cracking sound of a broken nose. Harrian hesitated for only a split second before leaping forwards, glad of how his drow body made him almost Anomen's equal in build as he tackled the cleric, wrestling him to the ground on sheer surprise, sword abandoned beside him as he clutched his friend's head, trying to yank the helmet off.

Anomen was flailing in a way which suggested he wasn't even that used to using his arms, and so it was little trouble for Harrian to pull the helmet off his head, even though he won a split lip for his troubles – and from there, the helmet could be used as a club, a blackjack, to beat Anomen into submission. Harrian was sure that he had not done any damage a healing spell from Jaheira could not undo, and indeed, was a little more worried that the cleric would get up again once he left him.

Harrian stood, looking up in time to see Minsc and Jaheira cleave through the last umber hulk as the spellcasters wound down a little, everyone looking bone weary. Solaufein was wiping blood from his blade, Imoen returning an arrow to her quiver, Haer'Dalis sheathing his two short swords, and beside him…

Harrian nearly jumped as Phaere, daughter of the Matron Mother, stepped up beside him silkily. "You should have killed him rather than attempted to spare him – he was an unnecessary risk."

The swashbuckler paused as he turned to face her, taking a moment to evaluate her discreetly – though it didn't seem to be too discreet, as he could see her eyes light up in a slightly knowing and not too kind smile, and he wondered briefly if the drow could blush – before answering. "He is a strong warrior, and there are not many who can rival him. It is little extra effort to avoid killing him." Each word hurt as his broken rib protested, but he managed to affect a slightly debonair grin at Phaere.

Solaufein stepped up, his expression a glower until he held the drow woman's attention, and then it became emotionless. "Greetings Phaere, daughter of Ardulace. I trust you are not hurt?" he asked, with as little concern as was possible.

"Solaufein?" Phaere turned, a slower and slightly more gleeful – in a malicious way – smile crossing her face. "The matron mother bade you to rescue me? How that must gall you, placing your life in danger to save mine… there is a wonderful irony here."

"I did my duty, as I was commanded," the drow male growled, just short of sounding insubordinate.

"Yes, you did, as any male should," Phaere replied dismissively. "You performed adequately, I suppose, even if it was with… assistance. Who is this male who fights at your side?" she asked, turning back to Harrian and giving him an inquisitive look.

Solaufein glowered again. "This is –"

"I am sure he can speak for himself," Phaere insisted, cutting Solaufein off curtly with another wave of the hand, still looking at Harrian. "Is this correct?" she asked at last under his sudden silence. "You have a tongue, yes? What is your name?"

Harrian gave a brief bow which was just short of being obsequious. "I am Veldrin, of Ched Nasad," he declared quietly, respectfully to her.

Phaere looked surprised. "Indeed? A foreigner? How very odd. We shall have to speak more, you and I, once we are back in Ust Natha," she said, and her words instilled a slight sense of – excited – foreboding in Harrian before she turned back to Solaufein. "I shall head back to the city on my own and inform the Matron Mother of your… successful service, male. You have proven useful. You should be grateful."

Solaufein looked shocked and angry at once. "You are going to return on your own? I will not allow that! What if you encounter danger once again? I shall not be responsible for –"

Again, Phaere interrupted him quickly. "I appreciate your touching 'concern', but I can handle myself, Solaufein," she replied, a little snidely. "And it is my command, so you have no choice. Farewell," the drow female declared, setting off into the darkness as a speedy pace, leaving a stunned group of warriors behind her.

Solaufein kicked a rock angrily, the bitterness and fury barely hidden in his words as he hissed. "Blasted, arrogant wench! May the Spider Queen bite at her black heart!" he spat venomously, glaring after Phaere. "I shall follow her, to ensure her over-confidence does not endanger us all. Return to the city on your own, Veldrin. I shall meet you when I hear of your return… feel no need to hurry," the drow warrior muttered angrily, striding off at a similar pace to Phaere, in the same direction as the drow they had just rescued.

Harrian paused, waiting until both dark elves had disappeared into the gloom, then turned to the party. A groggy and shame-faced Anomen was getting to his feet, with Imoen's help; Edwin was looking as if he was excessively interested in venturing into the caves ahead; Jaheira was casting a healing spell on a slightly injured Minsc; and Haer'Dalis was _already_ by Aerie's side, ready to offer a joke – an act which made Harrian roll his eyes, irked.

"I suggest we move on a little, find some shelter, then camp for the rest of the day. Staying out of the city would be… wise, I believe," the party leader declared quietly, feeling the fatigue seep into him, along with the dull ache of his injured rib. A bit of time away from the drow might do the company good, allow them to behave a little more normally… well, he hoped this would be good, anyway.


	108. Endless Heights

****

Chapter 108: Double Vision
    
    The party had managed to find a fairly out of the way spot, protected by some rocks, and settled down to camp for the night. Tension was visibly lessened now that they were away from Ust Natha and free from the watching, suspicious eyes of the drow, and although nobody in the party was in the state of mind to live life lightly, there was still a sense of enjoyment in the air. If the constant, bristling irritation of Anomen, the glowering of Jaheira, and the sulking of Harrian could be set to one side, that was.

Most fell asleep early, the day having been draining with marching and battles, and although they had made some good progress towards the city in their search for a camp site, it was still a long journey back the day after. The lack of sun made it hard to tell the time, and it was only through Jaheira and her connection to nature – still strong, even underground – which let them know if it was night-time or not.

On the whole, the party drifted off, shifting into smaller groups which sat and discussed for a time. Harrian, Minsc, Anomen and Edwin played cards for a short while, Boo giving Minsc as much advice as was possible; Jaheira grabbed Imoen and dragged her away from the camp to forage for new supplies which could be used for breakfast the next day; leaving Haer'Dalis and Aerie to clean the pots and pans they had used. There was no stream nearby, clearly, and so they used some of the now slightly stale drinking water the company had brought with it from Athkatla, knowing that they had much fresher supplies if any was needed and that they could replenish their stocks back at Ust Natha.

Haer'Dalis would be happy to admit it – though not _too _publicly, for nobody was ever well served by displaying their entire hand to the world at large – that he was fascinated by the Avariel. Behind her innocent demeanour there were clearly some deep, dark scars, the effects of which escaped every now and again… yet she somehow managed to remain naïve, sweet, and light. She had also been ignoring him somewhat, sitting in silence as they worked. This would not do at all…

"Your heart is heavy, my mourning dove?" he started, noting quietly that she jumped a little, having evidently been deep in thought, and the look on her face spoke of how these were plainly not too pleasant considerations. "Your eyes wander, I think, into dark and solemn places that others cannot see. Have a care, fair Aerie, lest they draw you in forever."

"It… it is nothing, Haer'Dalis, truly," Aerie replied, shaking her head and smiling uncomfortably. She shifted away, scrubbing at the pot to attempt to scrape the dried sauce that had stuck to the metal from it. "I was simply… thinking. Of a time when I still had my wings." She sighed, looking away, evidently not wanting too much to get into this conversation. "The memories… they wrench my soul, truly."

Haer'Dalis nodded, smiling a smile she didn't see, and when she turned back his face was the epitome of sympathy. "I think I can understand your loss, sweet one," he mused.

"Do you really? No… no offence intended, Haer'Dalis, but I can hardly see how you could understand, if you have never flown, never experienced these things," Aerie retorted, with a slight edge to her voice.

The bard paused, affecting a very thoughtful air. "Ah, but there are more ways to fly than with wings, my dove," he pointed out, sighing slightly for effect, aiming for drama without overacting. "And the fall to mundane earth is similarly filled with agony." He paused for a long moment, frowning as if thinking, waving a hand slightly, more focusing on simple recall than creative imaginings. When he spoke again, his voice was low, his expression serious, his tone melodious.

"_My fall was not the thing, my love,  
I thought I bore it well.  
But to stare up into the heavens  
from the darkened plains of hell,  
and think that I, too, once walked those  
endless heights  
is a pain I cannot tell_."

Aerie stared at him for a long moment, then glanced away, blushing a little, but the edge was not completely gone from her voice. "That… that was very lovely, Haer'Dalis," she managed slowly.

"They are but simple words, my dove," he sighed, mildly aware that she was not as moved as he had hoped. "For this bard to understand but a tiny fraction of your pain has cleft my heart in 'twain. You… have my deepest sympathy, sweet, lonely Aerie." She was evidently about to flee before him, his success a little more limited than he would have liked, so he decided to go for the more dramatic, debonair retreat as he stood with a flourish, kissing the Avariel's hand lightly before heading back towards his tent.

A few moments of watching as Aerie finished packing away their equipment made the odd glances she made in Harrian's expression quite obvious. Haer'Dalis smiled slightly to himself as he managed to put two and two together. _So, our dove is placing her affections tentatively with our raven? Most intriguing, and a development which is bound to proceed most… delightfully. Perhaps it would be best to retire from these escapades for now, to see how matters proceed, as the end result is destined to be destruction of some sort. And if… if it all collapses, then this sparrow will be ready to swoop in to collect the pieces. For now, perhaps playing the part we have already won the audition for would be a more… fruitful endeavour?_

He waited for a few minutes, sitting in the tent he shared with Minsc, lying down on his blankets to feign sleep if necessary. It was another half-hour before Jaheira and Imoen returned, the men finishing their game of cards, and Harrian instructed everyone that it was time to retire for the night. The bard smiled as he heard Imoen volunteer for the first watch, Anomen set for the second shift, then settled down as people retired to their tents.

Minsc crawled inside, the tent shaking a little as he knocked the frame and – evidently attempting to be quiet upon seeing Haer'Dalis apparently sleeping – did his best to clamber in to bed, murmuring occasionally to Boo. It was only when these whispers and the squeaks of reply had stopped and the giant ranger's breathing was deep and regular that Haer'Dalis dared move. He would tolerate no interruptions. It was time for the big performance.

He wriggled out of the tent, standing up and brushing himself down, knowing he could look better, but accepting the limits of the situation as he stepped forwards, heading for the fire at the centre of the camp, where a small figure, hunched over with a blanket thrown over their shoulders, sat.

"My wildflower?"

Imoen jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to face him, and smiled slightly. "Haer'Dalis! You… you startled me. Do you always have to creep up on people like that?" She frowned a little with the idle and innocent curiosity he had started to adore, and looked at him quizzically, continuing to speak before he could answer. "Why do you call me a wildflower, anyway, and not a bird? Everyone else is a bird… Harrian a raven, Jaheira a ptarmigan, Edwin a sparrow-hawk… though Minsc and Anomen are hounds…" The pink-haired mage's voice trailed off as she considered her own words, realising she was rambling a little.

Haer'Dalis shrugged as he moved over to sit next to her, assuming a considerate air. "Hmm, I suppose Anomen has changed so, becoming so chaotic that he is hardly as great a hound as Minsc. More of an…eagle, or some such. I shall have to consider this." He glanced sideways at her. "You are a wildflower, and not a bird, Imoen, because… well, you are different to the others. So very different you defy all that I had so far assumed about life and people. You go… beyond this."

Imoen raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. "Oh really? And you haven't got to know me well enough over the last month or so to realise that I'm not really innocent enough to go along with all your eloquence like that?"

Haer'Dalis managed to laugh lightly, inwardly delighting in the banter. "Ah, my wildflower, you challenge me at every turn! I try my best, though at the very core, it is enough for this sparrow to know that you have let me inside, to try to understand your pain since what you see as your fall from grace. I think… I do understand."

Imoen fixed him with a look, a grimace hidden a little in there as she took a deep breath, evidently searching for diplomacy. "Haer'Dalis… I'm not quite sure you… get this. Not quite sure you can. I mean, even Harrian doesn't – he understands the pain, sure, but doesn't quite get what it means to _me_… it's all different, and confusing. And it's more than a fall from grace," she added slowly, quietly. "It's a fall from everything. From goodness. From innocence."

"A fall… I can understand that," Haer'Dalis murmured. "A soul is not all that can take the wings out from under you as you fly, my wildflower. And the fall to mundane earth is just as agonising." He sighed deeply, sounding sympathetic but inwardly amazed and appreciative of the evident pattern emerging as he decided to carry on, testing the waters, more than happy to draw comparisons.

"_My fall was not the thing, my love,  
I thought I bore it well.  
But to stare up into the heavens  
from the darkened plains of hell,  
and think that I, too, once walked those  
endless heights  
is a pain I cannot tell."_

Imoen stared at him for a long moment, stretching her legs out a little on the ground before her, then turned her head and looked at the fire, crackling in the centre of the camp. "That's… beautiful, Haer'Dalis. Did you write it?"

"But a few moments ago, my wildflower," the bard lied with a slight, sympathetic smile. His expression was utterly serious, his tone more sincere and frank than anyone in the party had ever heard him speak, and he knew that that – that this – was what drove Imoen to letting him inside her heart and mind. He reached out to clasp arm slightly, then raised a hand to turn her head to face him. "You are not alone, my wildflower. I will always be here for you. You have my word, Imoen," he whispered, knowing that he had won as she offered no protest, did not pull away as he leant forward, pressing his lips against hers.


	109. Spider's Poison

****

Chapter 109: Spider's Poison

The company returned to Ust Natha fairly promptly the following day, being greeted by a gruff Solaufein who appeared to have been given a tongue-lashing by Phaere and was in less than a good mood. The daughter of the Matron Mother herself had retired to her quarters to 'recover', and although Harrian's party was evidently being charged with other jobs in the meantime, Solaufein had all but guaranteed that she would want to see him – or all of them, as he had corrected swiftly – and possibly direct them in new duties sooner or later.

In the meantime, the Handmaiden Imrae, who had so far directed them, charged them with seeking out and killing a beholder smuggling adamantine into the city. With sighs and groans, the party had proceeded to the relevant platform to find the eye-tyrant and fight it, a battle which had been a moderately unchallenging affair for the eight-strong company, although Jaheira had had to do some impressive dodging to avoid becoming a delightful garden ornament. But they had brought the beholder down, and Solaufein had swiftly dismissed them, saying that he would take care of the body and they could retire for the night.

So again they had rested, then answered Solaufein's summons in the morning, where he had told them that Phaere had at last been permitted to return to activity after her ordeal and wished to meet Harrian – and, indeed, the entire group, as Solaufein slipped again – in the tavern shortly.

As they entered the building, reaching the inn's common room, there was no chance that Harrian could have missed her. As before he had not managed to get the best of looks, in the dark when flustered, worn and in pain after the fight, a part of him was sure that his passing glance was wrong in many ways, and that he would see someone completely different to how he remembered.

But no, and again he was glad that his skin was dark as Solaufein led them to the table. She sat with the sort of impertinent slouch that only the most important and noble could get away with without appearing sloppy, and her expression was imperious enough to both quail and warm even the coldest and bravest of hearts. She was indeed a fine specimen of a drow; long, silvery hair that framed a delicate and finely chiselled face, with a strong jaw – for an elf – without being jutting, a small nose and flashing red eyes. A sideways glance at Anomen and Edwin showed that the affect she had, the slight shiver of excitement and flash of fear upon looking at her, was not exclusively his. Harrian felt both glad about and irritated by this.

Phaere spotted them before the party arrived and swept to her feet imperiously. "So Veldrin arrives at last to greet the female that he rescued so valiantly from the clutches of the filthy devourers!" she declared as they approached, smirking a little, a smile which broadened as Solaufein rolled his eyes.

"Ah. I must have been invisible and uninvolved during that encounter, I see," the drow warrior muttered with more than a touch of irritation and bitterness as he stepped up to the table, standing stiffly before her.

Phaere sneered a little as she glanced at him. "I was speaking to Veldrin, Solaufein. When I speak to you, it shall be to command you to lick my boot. Keep your bitterness silent or lose your tongue," she snapped curtly, raising an almost artistic eyebrow at him arrogantly, before turning back to Harrian. "Now, ignore your emasculated commander's outburst, Veldrin, and consider this a time for reward and enjoyment," she said, her tone a little softer again. Her eyes flitted to the party. "Tell your lackeys that they may go about their ways; costs of drinks shall be covered, and they may relax as we talk."

Harrian sensed, rather than heard or saw, Jaheira's stiffening and upcoming protest, and he waved a hand at her as dictatorially as he dared. "Yes… enjoy yourselves. You fought well today; perhaps some entertainment so you're in a good enough frame of mind to not get me killed next time would be in order." Already he could hear the retreating footsteps as Edwin and Haer'Dalis made simultaneous bee-lines for the bar.

Phaere smiled slightly, sitting down and gesturing that he should too. "You handle your group well; as must be evident from the fact that you are a male, and you have females in your party who follow your instructions. You must be a… powerful warrior indeed," she almost purred, and Harrian sat down abruptly to hide his discomfort before Phaere continued. "Mother Ardulace was pleased by your performance. Solaufein's abilities are known to her, but she was delighted to learn you are such a powerful fighter. Ust Natha could use one such as you, Veldrin."

Harrian leant forwards, feeling a little delight in the role he had to play which he sensed Haer'Dalis was constantly infused with. He fixed Phaere with a long look, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. "And you? Could you use one such as me?" There was a slight smile on his face, but his expression was, for the most part, neutral.

Phaere affected almost the same look as she shrugged exaggeratedly. "Perhaps. I am… often seeking strong men for various tasks. You have proven yourself as a warrior, a skill I shall most certainly make use of for now. Any other uses… you will again have to prove yourself. Nothing is impossible for one of your… skills."

Harrian did his best not to shift as her eyes ran down him, the look on her face that of someone who was evaluating that which sat before them; she seemed very much an expert in that which she was judging, and a glint in her eye was quite appreciative. "Amongst the drow, only the strong survive," Phaere continued slowly, her voice low and a little sultry. "You could have slaves at your beck and call, rewards at your fingertips… the favour of Lolth. How does this sound?"

The swashbuckler managed to shrug with an apparently disaffected air, smirking a little. _You have a part to play… play it!_ "I'd rather have you," he replied coolly, fixing her with his own gaze, though he wasn't sure he dared to allow his eyes to roam over the impressive sight.

He had evidently dared beyond his better judgement, however, for the slight smile which tugged at her lips was knowing intense. "Ah, is that so? Perhaps I may just show you the carnal delights of which only I am capable, male… but only if you prove yourself worthy of that honour," she reiterated.

Solaufein snorted loudly, and Harrian was jerked from his reverie, seemingly unaware that the warrior had even been there. The drow male fixed him with a look, a slight glint in his eyes suggesting that he already despaired of the Bhaalspawn, but spoke anyway. "If you knew what was good for you, Veldrin, you would begin running in the other direction as soon as the spider shows its fangs," he elaborated, shrugging.

"A pity some cannot comprehend the exquisite pleasure of being bitten, Solaufein. Perhaps some are hardy enough to withstand my poison and shudder with ecstasy," Phaere replied, her gaze not shifting at all from Harrian's face, something which made the disguised human shift with discomfort again. "Indulge yourself in relaxation for this day, Veldrin. You and your party. Tomorrow… I believe there will be a little something I can find for you to apply your skills to." She stood slowly, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to catch up with her face as she rose, causing her to smirk slightly. "Perhaps you can prove yourself in various ways?"

When she was gone, Solaufein barked a short, sharp laugh, then leant across the table towards Harrian. "Veldrin, I think she has taken a shine to you," he murmured wryly, shaking his head. "I would not fall for it, if I were you. That woman has a heart blacker than that of the Matron Mother herself."

Harrian glanced sideways at the door through which Phaere had disappeared. "I can see how you are right, Solaufein," he sighed, also shaking his head. "But, by Lolth, that female knows just how alluring she is."

The drow warrior shrugged, clambering to his feet. "Perhaps. I would think you not foolish enough to succumb to this temptation… it is a price which is far higher than it seems. Indeed, it may seem like more of a gift at first… but keep your wits about you, Veldrin, and you won't fall into the spider's trap."

Left alone for a few moments, it did not take long for Anomen to head over, two drinks in his hand, and he slid one mug across the table to Harrian. "My friend, you do indeed have a way with women," the cleric sighed wryly, rolling his eyes. "Perhaps you could bestow me with something by way of some pointers?"

Harrian gave the Helmite a venomous glare. "Silence, priest," he mumbled, shaking his head. "You try my patience, and speak of things of which you have no understanding. Worm, keep your opinions to yourself!"

Anomen grinned at him broadly. "Phaere is gone… Veldrin. I think you do not need to affect such airs any more," he pointed out.

Harrian snorted as he raised the mug to his lips. "You presume acting when there is none," he declared, then lowered the drink as both he and the cleric exploded in a brief bout of unfamiliar laughter, which tasted all the sweeter for how unaccustomed to such things they were… but inside, he could hear Solaufein's warning echoing repeatedly.


	110. Green is the Colour, Again!

****

Chapter 110: Green is the Colour, Again

"Don't you need to sleep?" Anomen asked as Jaheira glided over to where he sat, alone, in the middle of the campsite and moved to lounge comfortably on the ground opposite him. "Your watch isn't for another hour."

"I am a druid; sleep is not a physical need as it once was. I do sleep, but it is usually only so that I keep in with the routine of adventuring companions, and occasionally as a luxury." Jaheira stretched a little, massaging her neck muscles. "Is that the helmet?"

Anomen glanced up from tossing the small metal helm from hand to hand, then nodded slowly. "Aye. The Svirfneblin leader was quite happy to pass it over, and they assured us that they would be 'doing much bowing and scraping' to the drow. Though I cannot be content that we have aided in the drow's oppression of these people, it is better than bloodshed." He paused, giving her a curious look. "I will presume that Solaufein left as expected, and did not spot you?"

"No. From his pace, he seemed more than glad to get to return to Ust Natha and be spared the minor work Phaere gave us. He was barely paying attention to his surroundings… which is good, for it would not do to have the Matron Mother know of our mercy," Jaheira mused, frowning a little.

There was a long pause as Anomen nodded, looking back at the helmet. "Do you think we should spill some blood on it? Add to the authenticity of our claim?" he asked suddenly, frowning.

She considered this for a moment. "Perhaps it might be a little too much. It is worn, beaten and dirty; surely that will be convincing enough," the druid pointed out, shrugging.

The Helmite nodded again, and yet another long silence fell upon them as they both sat in their own thoughts until he spoke again. "Why did you decide to not sleep tonight, if you usually do?"

Jaheira took a deep breath, looking hesitant, but Anomen's attention was diverted from a shuffling behind them. They both glanced around to see Haer'Dalis creeping in what the bard probably thought was a discreet manner out and away from the tent the druid shared with Imoen, heading back towards his own tent.

A scowl crossed Anomen's face, and he raised his head to fix the Blade with a derisive, challenging look. "If you wish to be up at such hours, tiefling, then feel free to have my watch," he called out accusingly, and was rewarded by seeing Haer'Dalis jump a little.

There was a single moment during which the tiefling looked quite taken aback, but within seconds the look was replaced by his usual smug confidence. "Have no worries, Anomen, at this very moment I am heading to slumber – do keep up your good work as a watch hound," he declared lightly.

The Helmite's look darkened distinctly. "Somehow, I am not entirely sure that what you were doing several moments ago was sleeping," he retorted, a little snidely.

Haer'Dalis grinned back at him, reaching the entrance to his tent. "No? No… I suppose it wasn't," he replied, then shrugged and slipped inside, disappearing from sight.

Anomen stared for a long moment, his mouth hanging open a little, before he snapped it shut and threw the helmet to the ground with frustration, folding his arms across his chest and glowering deeply. "That damnable tiefling! If he were not Harrian's friend, then by Helm, I swear I would… would… Gods, whatever I could manage to do!"

Jaheira shook her head lightly, smiling a slight and knowing smile. "That was why I am still awake. I saw him creeping to the tent, and thought that going for a walk would be wise, to save… myself embarrassment." She caught his eye, her expression firm. "I would not think anything happened, Anomen. Imoen is not a foolish enough girl to do something that… foolish, with that bard, and they were probably anticipating my return at any moment, so she would not have wanted to be in a… compromising position if I were to suddenly appear."

Anomen forced himself to shrug, looking away. "It is not something that bothers me particularly," he lied badly, staring into the fire so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye. At least, no more than it bothers Harrian, or even you… Imoen is quite an innocent, and…" His voice trailed off weakly as he looked at Jaheira again, and he sagged, defeated.

Jaheira gave him a slightly encouraging, weak smile. "Jealousy is not the most becoming of emotions, Anomen. Do not succumb to it."

Despite everything, this brought a short bark of laughter from the cleric. "My lady Jaheira, I have never thought you to be necessarily the most humorous of individuals, but I must confess, I forgot how powerful your dry wit could be on occasion."

She bristled a little, glaring at him until he stopped laughing. "What is your point, Anomen?"

He sagged again, scratching at his chin where his beard would be, suffering the same discomfort as Harrian. "It does not take a master of reading body language to see how you suffer as I do, Jaheira… when he has his long, quiet conversations with Aerie, or whenever Phaere gives him that long, evaluating look as if he is a piece of meet in a butcher's… your plight is most easy to see." Anomen smiled slightly, tentatively, encouragingly as the druid averted her eyes. "And you worry unnecessarily, I fear."

"Unnecessarily?" Jaheira repeated, a little incredulously. "I think you have not read _enough_, Lord Delryn. I think you have not noticed that the looks Phaere gives him are _returned_ – he desires her, it is plain enough to see – or how he seems _far_ more relaxed and at ease after a conversation with that… weak… thing." She snorted, rolling her eyes. "She wilts like a flower and expects him to pick him up, and Harrian, defender and champion of all that is pure and light, swoops to her side. It's almost nauseating."

Anomen shifted uncomfortably. "Well… I would not read too much into Phaere. She _is _an attractive drow… most… enticing and exotic. But Harrian is, I am sure, not fool enough to play into her hands, for I am certain he is aware of the possible disastrous consequences of such an action. As for Aerie… I cannot speak of what they discuss or how she may be able to set his mind at rest, but I can guarantee you that the look in his eyes when they talk is pale in comparison to the looks he gives you."

Jaheira snorted. "He does not look my way; I would notice such a thing. And there are no disastrous consequences of submitting to Phaere's will at this point."

"Your fury?" Anomen smiled wryly as she glared again. "He looks. He is subtle, but he looks. Whatever… spell the Avariel has cast on him, whatever affect she has, I assure you is passing. Give him time. Try hoping."

"Hope? Hope is… hope is dead," the druid retorted, grimacing, but her voice was weak, and she shook her head. "Besides, I have more to do with my life than to sit and _hope _that he will decide if and when he chooses to notice me. I will not be tugged about like this on his whims, his desires. I have my own life."

Anomen considered this for a moment, shrugging. "Perhaps," he mused, frowning. "But if you are sworn to stand by his side for this time, to aid him in retrieving his soul… as long as you are by his side, is there any hurt in hoping? This life is… it is too short to throw away chances on matters of pride, especially when the chances are of love."

Jaheira paused, thinking. "When the chance arrives, I shall then consider it. As it stands, there are no chances, nor do I see there to be chances in the near future." There was another second's silence, then she glanced over at him. "And you? You do not seize chances, but out of fear rather than pride."

"I have seen no chances," Anomen retorted quietly, thoughtfully. "Her affection lies clearly with that tiefling… I doubt she even sees me. If we talk, even when we are alone, it is as if there lies a barrier between us. It is since I left the party to return to the Order… as if that somehow changed how she looks at me." He sighed. "That tiefling… I know his intentions. He cares nothing for her, not truly. He will use her, and then when he has sated his curiosity or baser desires, will move on, leaving her in whatever condition he reduces her to." The cleric's jaw tightened. "If he hurts her, then I swear by Helm that I shall kill him."

"My advice is a little more useful, and is more that you do not allow him to proceed that far. Imoen keeps you at arms' length, this much is true, but you would do better to discover why, and try to change that, than simply accept it and hang your head. Seize chances," Jaheira told him, with a slight glint in her eye.

Anomen nodded slowly, mulling this over, and silence fell on them for many moments. "It is strange, lady Jaheira, that we have travelled together for so long and yet, truly, know so very little of each other, do you not think?" he said at last, shouldering the topic of conversation onto a different track.

The druid shrugged slightly. "In ways… but also, though in the same party, our concerns have never been quite the same. I can and do fight alongside you, but there has not, truly, been many of the crises that have struck the group which we have aided one another on."

The cleric nodded yet again, reaching down to his side for his water flask, and took a swig from it. "I have a little under an hour until my watch is over; you do not need to sleep tonight. Perhaps swapping tales may take our minds from these dark places…"


	111. Heart and Mind

****

Chapter 111: Heart and Mind

"You are a _fool_, Corias!" Edwin hissed as the party strode hurriedly down the streets of Ust Natha, the leader still stuffing a bloodied cloak into his pack and trying not to be too noticeable about it. "You should have killed him! He could turn around and betray us now, expose us for who we really are?"

Harrian shrugged, not looking at the Red Wizard as they hastened back towards the Female Fighters' Guild, hoping they wouldn't attract that much attention. "I wasn't going to kill him, Edwin. He's done nothing wrong. He won't betray us, as if he shows up at all, he's bound to be slaughtered on sight. We've shown a little mercy, and at no expense to ourselves." At last, the swashbuckler gave the Thayvian a sideways glance. "Think about that for a bit."

"Though Solaufein was a drow, he was not our enemy," Jaheira agreed, and Harrian threw her a brief, grateful sideways glance. "Perhaps compassion is beyond you, Red Wizard, but it is not beyond us, and it is something quite worthwhile investing time in… consideration for others. 'Tis a trait not many people are bestowed with."

Harrian sighed, feeling bludgeoned by the sub-text, then turned to the party as they approached the Guild. "Perhaps I should go in alone. Phaere has shown… a distinct amount of limited patience when we turn up en masse – and when you, Minsc, destroy her furniture – and besides, I don't want to attract that much attention. We did, officially, just murder somebody."

The expressions of the party were mixed, but all looked fairly resigned at this instruction. Even Jaheira tightened her lips and said nothing, and they headed off towards the inn without a backwards glance, in something of a mob which made the individual drow walking down the street step to the side hurriedly. Harrian glanced around, then pushed open the door and stepped into the guild.

Phaere was waiting in her quarters, pacing a little impatiently – it was clear what she had been expecting when he stepped into the room, for she jumped around with anxiety, a brief flicker of appreciation crossing her face as she saw how he was unaccompanied.

He wordlessly pulled Solaufein's cloak out of his pack and raised it before her, not needing to say anything to get the message across and cause the smirk of glee to tug at her lips. "Ah, I see you carrying his piwawfi, my darling Veldrin! He... Solaufein is dead, yes?" There was a brief pause as Phaere's expression flickered as she reached out to take the cloak, and Harrian wondered how much the 'death' of her former lover had touched whatever was left inside this cold shell. "Yes… of course, he… he is dead. 'All love is foolish'," she murmured, as if recalling something.

Then Phaere stepped back, gesturing to the tiny table in the room, and he moved to sit down as she began to pace slowly, looking thoughtful. "You have done well, Veldrin… earned a place of honour in this house by serving me. You have had a most… satisfactory performance, and I cannot fault it in any way."

Harrian followed her with his eyes, not saying anything for a long moment, until he swallowed slowly and managed to affect a nonchalant air and something of a smirk. "I live to serve, to do my duty, Phaere."

"And you do it admirably," the drow murmured, stepping up beside him, a hand reaching out to rest familiarly on his shoulder. Her touch felt like fire, setting him alight at even the hint of contact, filling him with both excitement and fear at once.

"You are a strong and powerful male, Veldrin… worthy of my bed," Phaere continued, smirking a little as she sensed his breath slowing, becoming deeper at her contact, and she pulled him slowly to his feet, a movement to which he didn't resist. "I said some days ago that you would have to prove yourself before you would be suitable for anything more than killing…"

Harrian took a deep, sharp breath as both her arms snaked around his neck, Phaere stepping closer to him, pressing her body against his. Her warmth, her flesh so close to his own left him breathless for a moment, and she evidently knew that he was already entrapped as he attempted to smile weakly, and failed. "Have I proven myself, then?" he asked, his voice low, taking a step forward as his own hands slid to her waist, holding her tightly to him.

"You have." She leant forwards, their bodies even closer together as she lifted her head to whisper in his ear. "You shall remain here for a time and please me… come…" Her voice was like lightning in his head as she breathed in his ear, making all the nerves in his body tingle, a sensation which was elevated as her hands slid to the buckles in his armour, undoing them before he had a chance to complain or react.

Despite his arousal and temptation, alarms were ringing in his head, and he lowered his hands to grip her by the wrists, stopping her as she began to pull his armour off him. "Phaere… no… I can't," Harrian weakly.

A glare suddenly crossed her face, and she stopped her struggling as he tightened his grip on her wrists. "You 'can't'? What do you mean? I _command_ you…" At his bewildered and slightly stunned impression, as he searched for a response she decided to pre-emptively cut him off as she stepped closer again, covering his mouth with hers.

The pleasurable sensations exploded in Harrian's head, all nerves driven insane by the sensuality as her tongue darted into his mouth, and he responded gladly before he could quite realise what he was doing, reciprocating with a fierceness that surprised even himself as he pulled her even closer to him by her wrists, pinning her body against his.

It took her but a second to extract her hands, and her fingers moved with skilled speed to finish unbuckling his armour, pulling it from his body in seconds and depositing it on the ground dismissively before returning to more… compelling activities.

As he felt her frame pressed against his again, this time without the leather in the way to hinder sensitivity, Harrian just managed to stop himself from gasping out loud, and he pulled back briefly, breaking the contact. "If you command, mistress, then I must obey, I presume," he murmured, trying to push the troubles to the back of his mind. This was a dangerous situation, he knew – his purely physical attraction to Phaere could get him into more than a little trouble here, and his better judgement, not to mention assailed-on-all-sides heart which wished to go elsewhere, told him to stop. However, temptation was beginning to overcome the better judgement, and better judgement was starting to concede the point that to refuse could be disastrous and compromise the entire endeavour.

Phaere managed a small, predatory smile as she licked his cheek lightly. "Excellent. I shall show you, my dark Veldrin, why an evening with Phaere is worth more than an eternity with all other women." Her hands roved down to his waist, then slid inside his shirt and up his chest, applying a little pressure, directing him towards the bed in the centre of the room. "Come… I am anxious to begin…"

Her lips pressed against his again, her hot breath inside his mouth as eager fingers began to tug at the shirt he wore, even as he also began to slide his hands under the folds of her clothes, appreciating by touch what he had before only been able to appreciate by sight, and he felt her shiver with pleasure as his hands touched her bare flesh.

It had been over a month since he had experienced this sort of intimate contact, but felt much longer, with all that had taken place since. This, being with Phaere, felt very different to how it had been with Jaheira – with Jaheira, it had been intimate and personal, born of emotion, of love. This was purely physical, purely carnal, born of nothing more than base desire. This would be just sex, pure and simple, and was nothing more…

Images flashed through his head, memories of that single night, when he had lost his soul, been emotionally and almost psychologically destroyed by Irenicus and Bodhi, ready to turn his back on the world and curl up within himself… but she had come, rebuffed his attempts to get rid of her, and opened his heart and mind enough for him to catch his breath and not collapse entirely… She had saved him. And he had repaid her, repaid her love, by throwing his own love to the wind and running in fear.

__

No…

He pulled back from Phaere, stepping away, all excitement or arousal completely gone. "No… I can't." He sighed as she glared at him again angrily, and shook his head. "You… you managed to tempt me… mistress" – the word tasted bitter in his mouth – "but I cannot. I have sworn an oath to Lolth, an oath of celibacy. I cannot."

She pushed him away with disgust, deflated as she turned her back and began to pace irritably. "This… damn you. We will have to take care of this later. Now, there is not time, really… begone. Return to your party… I will summon you when I wish."

Harrian blinked, surprised at the ease with which she had accepted this explanation, and he had a feeling she'd be taking it out on some slave later. He stooped to retrieve his armour, putting it back on – it would probably look better to the party if he _didn't _return partially undressed – then turned around and headed for the door.

__

Jaheira… Jaheira, I'm here, I'm coming… He stopped once outside, taking a few deep breaths to gather his thoughts, then shook his head. _No... not here. Not in this place. But when we're out… the moment we're out, the moment this is over, the moment we walk in sunlight, I will do everything to make amends for what I have done… though I'm not sure that, truly, I can ever make it up to you. _Harrian's face hardened as he set off at a stride towards the inn. _But I can try_.


	112. Wakeup Call

****

Chapter 112: Wakeup Call

Harrian was certain that the party had retired to slumber by the time he returned to the inn, but once again he found that he didn't want to sleep. There was a very real possibility that his latest actions would incur Phaere's extreme wrath, and though he hoped that he'd proven himself useful enough to not be cast aside, there were still too many chances of disaster, too many things weighing on his mind that the possibilities of nightmares were endless.

As he nodded curtly to the innkeeper and headed towards the stairs of the drow inn, starting towards the party's hired room, he decided that he rather envied Jaheira for her lack of needing to sleep. The professions of the others in the party all gave them their perks, their links to something higher and more powerful – Jaheira and Minsc linked to nature, Anomen and Aerie linked to their respective gods, Imoen, Edwin and Haer'Dalis with their arcane powers… but then again, none of them could turn into giant, red, spiky killing machines on cue, so Harrian rather supposed he couldn't complain.

He pushed the door open to the party's room, and stopped with surprise as he saw Aerie, Anomen and Imoen still seated within, all giving him a very expectant look. They had evidently been there a while. "You're… still all up?" the swashbuckler asked, frowning.

Anomen shrugged. "Jaheira pointed out that it would probably be best to wait for you to return… but somehow, I don't think she wanted to greet you when you came back," he said quietly, looking a little uncomfortable.

"We volunteered," Imoen elaborated unnecessarily. "Everything alright? You rather took your time to just deliver a cloak." The three of them exchanged glances, the sub-text of their words not even slightly lost on Harrian.

"Phaere wished… to talk." The thief frowned, stepping over to perch on the edge of the table in front of them.

"I'll bet she did," Imoen replied, shaking her head. "You didn't… do anything, did you? I mean, it was pretty obvious what she had in mind…" The pink-haired mage shifted uncomfortably, evidently a little embarrassed at poking, but something driving her to push forwards.

Harrian stopped, looking defensive. "What? No! What makes you think that?" he retorted, more than a little too quickly.

Anomen shrugged slowly, shaking his head. "She is not an unattractive drow…"

"And… and she has made her intentions more than a little clear…" Aerie interjected.

"And I can read you like a book and it was also pretty clear what was running through _your _head, mister," Imoen concluded, poking Harrian in the chest.

He pulled back quickly to avoid the offending finger and their accusing glances. "What the hells is it to do with you how I choose to act?" he demanded, swiftly and defensively. "I am free to live my life, do as I please!"

Aerie paused, chewing on her lower lip. "This… this is true, Harrian. But we are your friends, and so we… we are here to give you guidance when you are acting… well…" The Avariel's voice trailed off, and her blue eyes turned to the floor, a little embarrassed.

"When you're acting _wrong_," both Anomen and Imoen finished for her, with the increased confidence which came from knowing Harrian better.

Harrian folded his arms across his chest. "And just who in the hells are you three to decide whether or not I'm acting right or wrong? None of you are hardly paragons of justice yourselves! And you all need your sleep, so bugger off," he insisted harshly, looking away and striding over to the wall, a little sulkily.

Anomen opened his mouth to carry on, but Imoen, sagging with defeat, placed a hand on his arm and shook her head. She had seen him in this mood many times, the mood where he wouldn't want to listen, and knew that they would do best to wait until later, until morning, before attempting this once more. The cleric didn't resist too much as Imoen led him out the room, heading towards the door and giving Aerie a pointed look.

The Avariel shook her head, gesturing for them to leave, and as they closed the door behind them, she stood and started towards Harrian, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's… it's wrong when it hurts others, isn't it?"

The Bhaalspawn paused, frowning, then turned to look at her. "I didn't do anything to hurt anyone else," he said forcefully. "Nothing happened with Phaere. It almost did, but I do have a modicum of self control, you know," he muttered.

"Perhaps, but it _does _seem as if… the possibility that you did something hurt others. And I'm not just talking about your actions tonight," Aerie started, evidently very tentative, but also with a certain amount of determination in her eyes.

"Aerie? You've been with this party for about five minutes; I'm not sure you actually have a clue about anything which has happened apart from tonight," Harrian retorted, snapping a little more than he meant to, but without any inclination to step back down from his mood.

"No, that's true," she replied, blushing a little with embarrassment. "But I… I notice things. I have watched a bit since my arrival… I've picked things up. And Anomen and Imoen explained… quite a lot while we were waiting," she stammered.

Harrian paused, turning and glaring at the door. "Oh, they did, did they," he muttered venomously, making a mental note to talk to those two at a later hour. "Just what did they decide to share with you?"

"Filled in the gaps, as I had already guessed most of it," she replied, a little defiance creeping along in the face of his abruptness. "About you, and about Jaheira, and about what you did."

Harrian looked sharply at her, then faltered as he saw what seemed to be a note of defeat and sadness in her eyes. "What I did has already happened, and it can't be changed," he murmured, contradicting his sentiment of not even fifteen minutes earlier. "And now is not the time or place to make amends."

"Considering your life, what's happened, and what's likely to happen in the future, I think you can use that excuse for quite a while," Aerie pointed out tentatively. "I don't… I don't really know Jaheira, except that she glares and seems to be rude most of the time, but from what Imoen and Anomen said, it's increased since you rejected her." There was a long pause as she reached out slowly and placed a hand on his arm. "I know that… you're feeling scared, and empty, with the loss of your soul. Lost, not knowing where to turn to, and pushing people away because that makes things easier… and lets you feel sorry for yourself."

Harrian stopped, lost for words for a moment, until he shook his head and pulled away, starting to pace. "Aerie, I sympathise with your loss and appreciate your attempt to help, but losing your wings isn't _quite _the same as having your mortal soul… ripped… viciously… from you…" His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes and looked away, the aching gulf within himself opening up a little.

"That's true," Aerie conceded. "But I know about loss. And that's what's affecting you now, not the lack of a soul. You were able to love her when you'd first lost it, weren't you," she pointed out.

Harrian's head snapped up, and he frowned at her. "That's got nothing to do with it! I was disoriented, lost, confused, and let her in. Then, when the full implications became clear to me, I realised that to keep her close at hand would be just endangering her…"

"Like travelling with you into the middle of a drow city?" Aerie interrupted him lightly, and although she was challenging him at every turn, the fact that she seemed so nervous about it made it impossible for him to get angry with her.

"Yes… I mean no!" He swore loudly, thumping the table with his fist. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know what I'm feeling," he replied, a little sulkily and defensively.

"I don't think you do, either." Aerie paused, taking a deep breath. "No, I haven't known you for years like Imoen, or fought by your side like Anomen, but I see things, and I know what you're going through. Simply put, you are scared, Harrian. To open up your heart to her, to anyone, might mean that things would be better, but you'd have to work at it, and the path is unclear. To keep yourself to yourself means that you can carry on, doing what you do, and hoping that the world will rearrange itself to make things better for you. It won't." Harrian didn't answer, merely stared at the table, so Aerie paused, then pressed on. "Do you love her?"

The swashbuckler grimaced, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, I love her."

With his eyes still on the table, Harrian missed the slightly sad grimace which Aerie quickly managed to hide. "Isn't that enough?"

He considered this for a long moment, calmer and with an air of defeat about him until he slowly stood up. "I'm… I'm going to bed," the Bhaalspawn said at last, shaking his head. "I will… I'll think about what you said," he continued, then almost ran out of the room.

The corridors of the inn were empty, and a little dark as he stepped down them, heading towards his room towards the end, passing the doors of his party members… Haer'Dalis and Minsc, Imoen and Aerie, Edwin… Jaheira…

He came to a halt in front of the druid's door, resting his hand lightly on the smooth wood, and raised a fist, ready to knock. He didn't know what he'd say, what he'd do, or even if there was any action or word which could make anything better… but he had to… had to…

__

No. Not here. It could endanger everything. Harrian uncurled his fist, lowering his head, then started on towards the room he shared with Anomen. _But when we are out, Jaheira, I swear. When this mess – when the Underdark – is over, we will have this long-needed discussion…_

He pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside, not too surprised to see the illumination of candlelight allowing Anomen, perched at the desk in the small, two-bed room, to write his journal. Harrian pulled off his armour and threw it to the floor, sighing. "You win. I'll talk to her."

Anomen smiled slightly, nodding, then glanced up at the party leader. "But not here?" he asked slowly. "No, I suppose that might not be wise. I may have to invoke all of Helm's wrath to punish you if you procrastinate once we are on the surface, however," the cleric warned.

Harrian sighed, nodding slowly. "Please do, my friend, please do. I fear I shall need it." _After all, is not everyone to be found cowering when change threatens to come about, especially a change so close to our hearts? Perhaps not, no. But I have cowered, and it is time for this cowering to end. Here and now. Well, at least, in a few days._


	113. Stab in the Back

****

Chapter 113: Stab in the Back

Edwin Odesseiron, Red Wizard of Thay and current, as he liked to put it, hired henchman to the Bhaalspawn Harrian Corias, was in something of an utterly foul mood. This was not an unusual state of affairs for him, as he'd been fairly unhappy ever since leaving Thay, but developments over the last month and a half had left him… yet more so.

He'd had a good deal working for the Shadow Thieves. Yes, they were scary and… thief-like at times, a thoroughly insidious bunch, but they knew how to pay, and they knew how to value a skilled mage in the city of Athkatla. He had lived in vague luxury in a few good weeks, left mostly to his own devices except for when the thieves needed something, and had been nearly happy.

Unfortunately, greed had torn this apart. A message from his friend, the informant named Tellis, had sent him into waves of excitement at the possibility that someone, somewhere, had found the Nether Scroll and needed someone to make sense of it. Enter Edwin Odesseiron, evidently.

Again, there had been a few hitches. The Nether Scroll had been in the possession of Corias' party, and Edwin had overreached a little by deciding to… experiment once he had translated enough of the scroll. The result had been an attractive woman called Edwina.

The following weeks were a blur – fleeing Athkatla, searching high and low for a way to get the hells out of the curse, and running straight into a mage-assassin of the Red Wizards, who had mercifully turned Edwin back into his proper form before attempting to kill him.

This fool had underestimated the power of Edwin Odesseiron, however, and though the battle had been long and hard, he had emerged victorious, alive, and male, with an intense desire to return to Athkatla and return to his former state.

Yet again, the knocking on the door once he'd arrived had been Tellis, telling Edwin of a wonderful, amazing opportunity, which involved a real challenge of the arcane which would test him to the limits of his abilities…

And he had ended up here. Here, in Ust Natha, a drow city in the Underdark, in _another _alien body, with nothing but the promise of riches to keep him here – and no escape route. He wouldn't deny that he had loved the challenge of building the portal; it was the sort of thing every mage wished they had a reason to do so, for it had tested him and he had _done it_, succeeded. But he was at the end of his tether with this wishy-washy party of the Bhaalspawn's, which got nowhere and served only to infuriate him.

The party had been summoned by Phaere to meet Matron Mother Ardulace and had been sent on a quest to find one of several interesting monster artefacts. So the party had set off, got itself promptly captured by the illithids, and had had to fight its way out, fortunately collecting some blood of the Elder Brain on their way out, not to mention the blade and hilt of a sword which had left Harrian staring at the indentation in the hilt where there had clearly once been a pommel gem and cursing Ribald Barterman, oddly enough.

Ardulace had been delighted by their success, and had hurried off to doubtless put it to some nefarious use, which had prompted Phaere to drag the whole party back to her quarters, _just _to tell them that she planned to double-cross Ardulace. At last they had a hint of the trail of the elusive dragon's eggs, for it seemed as if the drow had them, and House Despana planned to sacrifice them to a demon lord in exchange for whatever power they wanted or needed – a most admirable endeavour, Edwin had to agree.

The party had stopped at the tavern briefly to wait as Harrian, Imoen and Haer'Dalis left to steal and switch the eggs, and Edwin was resting outside, preferring the comparatively 'fresh' air to the stifling inside of the tavern, which was like all taverns – a constant stench of drink and bodies, though pipe-smoke was, thankfully, that much less prevalent.

His hand rose instinctively to his neck as he felt something light strike him there, and the Thayvian looked around quickly, suspiciously. All there was down the passageway to his left was darkness… a darkness which was moving.

A voice, light and very quiet – so quiet he had to strain to hear it – wafted from out of the passageway with the utmost secrecy. "Surfacer! This way, I bid you!"

Edwin blinked, his hands going down towards his spell components, but slowly proceeded to head for the dark passageway from where the voice had emanated. "Surfacer? Who's a surfacer… Solaufein!"

The drow warrior, looking much the worse for wear even in the handful of days he had been 'dead' and free, emerged a little from the darkness and nodded curtly. "It is me. I felt I needed to return, to help you. Veldrin told me of why you were here, what you were doing, and you spared my life – though, as I recall, you in particular had not wanted to." Solaufein grimaced and shrugged. "Not that I blame you, your reasons were clear enough. But your group _did _spare my life, and so I am grateful, and am here to extend help."

"Help? How?" Edwin asked suspiciously, folding his arms across his chest. "You show your face in this city actively, you'll have the whole of the House Despana chasing after you, baying for blood (not that that wouldn't be an amusing sight, but still…)."

Solaufein considered this, nodding. "True. It is true. But I can aid in other ways. I know what Phaere bid you to do, to steal the eggs so she could stab the Matron Mother in the back. I presume that Veldrin is preparing for such an endeavour at this moment. If you wish to foil Phaere _and _Ardulace's plans, however, I suggest you listen to what I have to say and do as I suggest."

Edwin raised an eyebrow imperiously. "I may consider it. Speak first," he replied, a little curtly.

Solaufein pulled two items from out of his cloak and pressed them into Edwin's hands. "Take these eggs – they are exact duplicates of the real ones. Phaere has marked her own, so she can tell the difference, but these have no markings – they will fool her. Leave the marked ones for Ardulace to find, give these duplicates to Phaere, and keep the real eggs yourselves, where they are safe."

Edwin looked down at the two eggs, before quickly slipping them inside his robe. "Veldrin is taking the eggs as we speak. I shall approach him when he returns. I suppose… I should thank you," the Thayvian murmured grudgingly.

Solaufein shook his head. "No, bringing down that Despana bitch will be its own thanks. I only wish I could be there when it happens to tell her that I helped doom her… but watching from afar will have to do. I am still in Veldrin's debt, surfacer." He paused, before reaching again into his cloak and pulling out a small roll of parchment. "Which is why I procured this – you spoke of the drow attack on the elven city… well, there are the battle plans, the tactics for the army. I managed to… collect them from friends. I hope these will help you."

Edwin looked dubiously at the parchment, before accepting it anyway. "It shall help me, or it shall help some weakling elves… well, I suppose it may be of use (perhaps to be sold?)," the Thayvian admitted grudgingly.

Solaufein smiled at what he presumed was meant to be a joke when there was none, before nodding again. "Very well, surfacer. Now I shall leave – you will not see me again," he told Edwin, before stepping back and melting into the shadows once again.

Edwin looked down at himself, glancing at the eggs for a moment before hiding them again. He turned, and headed back towards the inn, his desire for clean air over. He would head for the party's hired room to think.

These eggs… these eggs would make sure that neither Phaere nor Ardulace held the real ones at a pivotal moment, and that the party could keep them secure throughout the ritual. Harrian didn't know about these new, false eggs yet – which was a good thing, ignorance could be good. If someone was ignorant, then it could be a simple matter to educate them, inform them, whereas if somebody knew something, you couldn't rip it out of them without an illithid.

They needed the eggs to give to Adalon so that she would send them back to the surface. This much was unfortunate, as Edwin was quite interested in the potential such eggs could have for experiments. If he were to keep the eggs, he would need to find a different way to escape, a new route to the surface.

On the other hand, if a demon lord were given those eggs, would it be too hard to ask to be transported to the surface _as well _as given infinite wealth and power? This sounded like quite an excellent deal… and surely, he'd have to leave the party behind, as they could be slightly irked by his actions, but it would certainly be a good deal with this?

Edwin looked up as the door to the party's hired room swung open. Lost in a trance, he had barely noticed that he himself had reached his destination and had clearly been seated there for a good while, judging from the fact that he had only been fully alert for five minutes of the time Harrian and the others had been gone.

He stood up as the Bhaalspawn stepped in with Imoen and Haer'Dalis behind him, and with a flourish removed his cloak and displayed the eggs to the party as the other five adventurers hurried over. "Piece of cake. Nice and easy," Harrian declared cheerfully.

"You have them? There were no troubles? Did you monkeys actually manage to succeed at doing the switch without bringing the entire city down upon you?" Edwin asked, hurrying up anxiously.

Harrian smirked. "No trouble. No trouble at all. Here, Eddie, hold them a second," he continued, passing the eggs to Edwin as he moved to walk to the other side of the room, loosening his armour with his now free hands. "This is going to have to be handled delicately, people. Phaere has the real eggs, so when the ceremony starts, we'll need to stop her…"

Edwin looked down at the two eggs in his hands as the rest of the party focused on Harrian, who was pacing a little melodramatically and giving what the monkey probably presumed as an inspiring speech. Nobody was looking at the Thayvian, with two real eggs in his hands and a pair of false ones in his robes. It was really far, far too easy. 


	114. To Overreach

****

Chapter 114: To Overreach

"Now, whatever happens, we must make sure that Phaere does _not _give the real eggs to the demon lord – we have to stop her – or else this game is completely over," Harrian hissed to the party as they proceeded down the streets of Ust Natha, heading for the temple of Lolth. Irritatingly, they had to take the long way around, as the shortest route would have included going through the spider pit… and having the party leader run screaming and shivering might not have gone too well in their favour, especially when he wasn't allowed to then _kill _the spiders.

"Yes, Harrian. We know. You did tell us several _dozen _times," Jaheira sighed, shaking her head as she strode ahead, leading the party as the swashbuckler became too fidgety to actually make much progress. Edwin was quite sure he wasn't the only one to notice the long, considerate and thoughtful look he gave the druid as she went past.

The great doors to the temple were already open as they stepped up, Phaere pacing impatiently just at the entrance. As the party approached, her head snapped up and she gave Harrian a long and distinctly venomous glare which _nobody _missed, though a frown and something almost approaching a pout made the venom lower a little, replaced more with bitterness.

"Ah, Veldrin, you have arrived at last," she declared, the slight purr of her voice completely gone and replaced with more of an aggressive tone. This time, the thoughtful expression was on Jaheira's face, mixed with a little smugness after a second and then instantly hidden. "Come! The ceremony is to begin now." Without further ado, the daughter of the Matron Mother whirled on her heel and strode further into the temple, the party close behind.

The large hall of a room which had been chosen for the ceremony was quite dark, and could easily hold a hundred drow. It was almost certainly the main chapel, for prayer and… sacrifices, and whatever other religious activities the drow enjoyed in such places. Harrian had to surreptitiously swat Anomen on the arm as the cleric shivered lightly.

Ardulace was already standing in the centre of the room, arms folded over her chest imperiously, fixing them with a glance as they approached. "Veldrin… you have been allowed to witness, as a seat of honour, but do not overstep your bounds," she declared as the doors were slammed shut behind them all. "You are here to watch; nothing more."

Harrian gave a short, respectful bow as they formed an unconscious and uneven circle in the room. "I understand, Matron Mother. It shall be as if… I am not even here," he replied, in a distinctly lackey-ish voice.

Ardulace nodded curtly. "Very well. All preparations have been made… it is time for the ritual to begin. In moments the drow will stand supreme with House Despana first among them." A slight smirk crossed her face, which faded as she glared at them all, including Phaere. "Ensure nothing disturbs my casting. When the demon appears, do not interfere. Mistakes from any of you will earn you a quick death and eternal torment. Now… I shall begin."

The casting of a spell such as this, to summon a demon lord, was a difficult endeavour, and Edwin knew it. You had to ensure that you were getting the _right _demon, that it wouldn't savage you as soon as look at you, and then you needed to make sure you didn't aggravate it once it was here, preferably by having something actually worthwhile to discuss. As the lights seemed to dim and the room grew darker, Ardulace's hands weaved through complex patterns, arcane mutterings emanating from her mouth, probably only whispers but seeming to echo and grow louder, almost to deafening levels. The ground shook a little, a lantern to their left exploded, and then everything went black… only for light to return a few seconds later. The room hadn't changed at all.

What _had _changed was the presence of a giant demon standing in the centre of the room. Red-skinned, winged, with horns and eyes that seemed as if they were made of fire, it was enough to make some members of the party – Haer'Dalis, most notably – back away a little, discreetly, in fear. Some, like Edwin, held fast, though whether it was through courage, stupidity, or an intellectual interest was up for debate.

"_I have come_," the demon lord stated ominously, looking around at them all. "_You have wrested me from my plane, darkling. Have good reason, or I shall take my price in darkling blood_," it warned.

"I have good reason, lord of the nether pits!" Ardulace shrieked, sounding almost crazed in her declaration. "I beseech you to aid the drow cause in the war against our hated surface cousins, to carve their pale flesh!"

"_And what manner of tithe would you offer me for such a deed, darkling? What manner of payment warrants my aid_?" the demon asked, sounding actually a little bored as it looked down at them.

Ardulace shuffled about in her robes, hurriedly coming up with the two false dragon eggs and holding them aloft. "I offer you _these_, lord of fiends… eggs of a silver dragon," she continued, still sounding quite crazy, and missing the confident smirk of Phaere. The party were all too tense to smirk, Edwin clutching the true eggs under his robe.

There was a long, painful silence, when it seemed that all that could be heard was the beating of each individual's heart. Eventually, the demon lord drew back slowly, tilting its head slightly to one side. "_Foolish darkling. Do you think I would be taken in by such a simple deception_?" it asked.

Ardulace's eyes bulged. "W-what do you mean? These… these… these are –"

"**_False_**, darkling. I would normally accept such a tithe, were it real, but you have offended me, little darkling woman," the demon continued, in a slightly peeved voice which still held a note of boredom as it stretched out a clawed hand.

The matron mother backed away. "No! _No_!" she shrieked as a yellow ball of pure energy began to glow in the palm of the demon's hand. "_Lolth_! Protect your faith –"

The sentence was left unfinished as the yellow ball began to grow, then sprouted outwards in a crackling bolt which was blinding to behold and shot forwards, hitting Ardulace in the chest and incinerating her flesh, leaving only the bones and armour she wore behind.

The demon turned to the others, looking more than a little irritated and not in the least bit bored now. "_How dare you call me here! How dare you tempt me with eggs of hated silver, but then deceive me! I am tempted to raze this city to ashes!_" it bellowed in a deafening, ear-splitting voice.

Phaere stepped forwards, pulling Solaufein's false eggs from out of her clothes and holding them aloft, greed and delight in her eyes. "Hold, demon! I am the daughter of the one who has summoned you… and I have the eggs that you seek. I offer them to you as the tithe!" she shouted in a voice full of anticipation.

Harrian bounded forwards at last, pulling his sword out and pointing it at Phaere's neck, unwavering. "Hold, Phaere! Give up those eggs or you will die by my hand, right here, right now," he growled threateningly.

Even as Phaere looked shocked, before she could retaliate the demon lord raised his hand again, though this time the ball of arcane energy was purple, and as it hit the party they were left immobile rather than incinerated… which was useful.

"_I will deal with you **later**, godchild,_" the demon lord muttered, shaking its horned head as it turned back to Phaere, and there was another stunned silence as the party could only stare whilst the demon examined the eggs. Then it threw back its head and laughed loudly.

Being stunned or clutching a pair of supposedly valuable eggs made it impossible for anyone to clamp their hands over their ears as the demon lord chuckled mightily. "_A great joke has been played on you, daughter-darkling. The eggs you hold… are **also** false_."

There was another long, stunned silence as a shocked Phaere turned to look at an equally shocked party, which was slowly starting to regain a little feeling from the temporary hold spell. "No… no? Veldrin?" Her shock turned to anger slowly. "_Veldrin! What have you done to me_?"

The demon lord looked amused as it stepped forwards. "_The Bhaal-child has murdered you, daughter-darkling. Most amusing, it is! Ha! Come, now, and be murdered!_" it declared ominously, raising its hand, which had started to glow slightly yellow.

When the smoke cleared, the demon lord made a noise which sounded like a long-suffering sigh and turned to the rest of the party, waving a hand to fully dispel the Hold that was upon them. "_Now… I rather assume that there are no **real** eggs to be found. Unless a better offer is available, I shall depart_."

Harrian stared at the demon lord, utterly stunned, as he gaped in shock. Edwin reached into his robes, clutching at the real eggs discreetly, before starting to shuffle sideways, further away from the main party. Unfortunately, this left him a little closer to Minsc, standing on the perimeter, than he would have liked, but he was sure he could move away enough.

"But where… where _are _the actual eggs? I thought she had them," Harrian murmured numbly, staring at Phaere's remains, looking as if he'd been clobbered over the head with the full implications of losing Adalon's eggs. Edwin shuffled sideways, a little noisily, but nobody looked around.

"I don't know," Jaheira murmured, frowning. "Without the eggs, we have… we have no way of getting out of the Underdark… we have no way of…"

Edwin stepped forwards triumphantly at last, pulling the _real _eggs from out of his robe and lifting them up high, eyes flashing in the face of victory. "_I _have the eggs!" he declared with much aplomb, already envisioning the powers he would receive, the wealth from the demon lord before he was transported to the surface… abandoning these poor fools, true, but they never acknowledged his great power anyway. "And I will –"

He was cut off as a pair of large and exceedingly strong hands wrapped themselves around his chest and swung him round, knocking all the air out of his lungs and making him feel dizzy, almost to the point of dropping the eggs. Almost. _It's that insane Rashemani ranger… he's got a hold of me! He'll kill me for sure, crush all the life out of me…!_

"The Red Wizard has _found_ the cute little eggs, and has saved them from the evil dark elves!" the unmistakable voice of Minsc echoed in his ear, half-deafening him. "Oh, we thought he was a bad, bad man, but he has saved the day, kept them safe!"

The large demon lord seemed to blink at the exceedingly strange spectacle, then shook its head, seeming to sigh again. "_So be it. Mortals are forever fools_," it mumbled, then the room darkened again. When light returned, there was no demon.

"Let me down you great overgrown ape, before I shoot a magic missile at your posterior! (yes, and roast your hamster too, see how he likes _that_)," Edwin snapped irritably, finding it hard to speak without any air in his lungs, absolutely livid at how quickly and easily his plans had been foiled.

"So… you made a copy of the eggs and gave them to me to give to Phaere, did you?" Harrian asked dubiously, stepping over as he gestured to Minsc to let go of the Red Wizard. "It's a good idea, but why didn't you tell me?"

Edwin brushed himself down, unable to complain as Imoen practically snatched the eggs from his grip. "Well… I didn't make them. Solaufein came back, gave me these eggs… oh, and some battle plans of the drow for the attack on Suldanessellar (my plans, undone, in moments! The agony!)" he mumbled, unhappily passing over the scroll of the battle plans, realising the game was up and he'd do best to play along to stay alive.

"Really," Harrian drawled, giving the Thayvian a long, considerate look. "Solaufein, hmm?" There was a long silence as their eyes met, Edwin defiant, Harrian suspicious, but Jaheira giving him a solid elbowing in the ribs jerked the swashbuckler out of the staring competition, and he looked around quickly. "Ah… yes. Loot the bodies, and run, I think, before we bring down the entire city upon our heels!"


	115. Dazzled

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AC: Heh! Today is the one-year anniversary of Tide of Destiny! Publishing-wise, anyway. Hope you've enjoyed it so far… and God, I must be sad to write something like this for a whole year. Though, admittedly, I've probably only been writing it for six months of this year. The aim is to finish the whole thing by the end of the summer, and if it takes me any more than this **Christmas** (so we have a while yet) I'm just killing everyone off!!!! :-) 

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Chapter 115: Dazzled

"By all the Gods, this light seems to be damnably blinding," Anomen muttered in a mixture of appreciation and pain as the eight adventurers stepped, for the first time in perhaps a fortnight, on fresh, green grass. It was the most beautiful day Harrian could remember for the longest time, even this far south, although he did rather suspect that his memory was a little tainted. The sun shone brightly, there was no cloud in the sky, and their environment was the outskirts of an idyllic forest, buzzing with life. Even the air felt fresher and more natural. The party was in such high spirits that even the group of elven warriors surrounding and escorting them hardly dampened their mood. Hardly.
    
    "Are you complaining, Anomen?" Harrian asked wryly as a small clump of tents became visible ahead of them as they moved through the trees. Four elves were standing there, two in the suits of chainmail the warriors escorting them wore, the other two in long robes of mages, though from the long swords at their belts it was easy to see that these were not mere scholars of arcane matters.

The cleric sneezed briefly as something in the air irritated his mild hay fever, then grinned ruefully and shook his head. "Not in the least. I'd be happy to give up my eyes if it meant that we would never have to descend to that damnably dark place," he muttered, his smile prevailing even through slightly watery eyes as he rubbed his nose quickly.

The party was 'escorted' up the two elves who seemed in charge – or at least in positions of power or influence – and the leader of the patrol which had met the company stepped up to one of the men in chain and whispered something in his ear.

The elf, who was evidently the leader here, listened attentively, nodding sagely, before turning to the party to face them full-on. Like all elves, his face was ageless, timeless, though the dull sheen in his eyes and slightly frazzled state of his hair told of the worries that wore down upon him. He still stood upright, however, and from the way he bared himself Harrian guessed he was the 'Elhan' the patrol leader had referred to.

"Interesting," Elhan said at last, raising a delicate eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest. "Well, I thank you for coming, and for not presenting _too _much of a problem – so far. Your presence in itself is an issue, though you could have caused hassle yet did not. For that I am grateful."

Harrian rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. It's not as if we exactly had a choice," he pointed out, though weariness and relief had rather dragged most of the venom from his voice. "Pleasantries aside, what is it that you exactly want?" he asked, and though there was respect in his voice, there was also irritation.

Elhan's expression darkened a little as it became clear that he had very little patience at that moment. "If I were you, I would make the very most of these 'pleasantries' whilst they still last. I am not here to pamper you or coddle your delicate feelings. Serious matters are afoot, and there is little time to waste, so I shall keep my questions short."

Harrian frowned, folding his arms over his chest also and mimicking Elhan's body stance. "Very well, go ahead. I suspect that we rather share goals anyway; are in search of the same man. I chase Irenicus."

Elhan's irritation faded to curiosity and thoughtfulness, and he nodded slowly. "I was told that you might know something of him, and I hoped you might tell me exactly what. I shall ask you some questions, and you shall reply truthfully. Any falsehoods shall be detected by my… skilled war mages here," he continued, nodding to the two robes figures by his side. "They are very good at that sort of thing. Now… something simple to begin with. You emerged from the home of the drow. Were you in league with them or fleeing them?"

Harrian frowned. "I suppose you _could _say that we were fleeing them, though we left enough chaos in our wake that we were hardly being hounded out." _Chaos in their passage_… "Definitely not in league with them," he added quickly, blinking.

"Truth," the first war mage declared slowly.

"Indeed, truth," the second one concurred, sounding a little bored.

"A truth. Well, a good start. You are currently not an ally of the Drow. This tells me nothing of your motives though," Elhan mused, nodding slowly. "Let us continue. A name, then, that you may know something of. Irenicus. Do you know of him?"

A flash of anger lit up Harrian's eyes for a moment. "Irenicus! By the Hells, I know him! He is my very reason for _being _in the bloody Underdark! I've sworn to chase him over damned Faerûn, if needs be!" he snapped angrily, throwing his arms up in the air. The quiet, almost inaudible noise of a bowstring being drawn reached his ears, however, and he lowered his hands and smiled sheepishly at one of the elven archers to his left. "Sorry."

"Absolute truth," the first mage said, now a little amused.

"Agreed. Truth in both answers."

"Well, that is somewhat reassuring. Your bloodlust certainly illustrates your true feelings about him," Elhan returned dryly. "This has put me more at ease. Whatever manner of creature you are, we are on the same side in this instance at least."

Harrian rolled his eyes. "I'm very glad you're happy. Can we go, now? We're very busy people."

Elhan raised a hand slowly to interrupt the Bhaalspawn. "You are certainly less of a threat than I first imagined, but do not think you are welcome as of yet. This area is still at risk, and I will not take chances," he said quickly, his voice taut and hard. "For now, I will apprise you of the situation, and you will realise why travel in this area is to be restricted. You might have received a warmer welcome, but Irenicus has triggered the strongest of emotions everywhere he steps." The elf clasped his hands behind his back slowly. "He has stepped beyond all bounds of decency, and our very city is under the weight of his thumb. Suldanessellar is simply gone."

Harrian frowned. "'Gone'?" he repeated slowly.

Minsc's expression wavered in disbelief, and his great jaw dropped. "Irenicus is the most vile of villains if he dared destroy a whole city! I can't believe that, and I have believed some amazing things, let me tell you!"

Elhan gave the large ranger a curious sideways look, before frowning and focusing his attention back on the swashbuckler. "It has only been concealed, but we cannot penetrate the magics that have hidden it. We are forced to remain here, pestered by drow while supplies falter."

Harrian nodded thoughtfully. "Drow that were incited by Irenicus and the bargains he made in the Underdark," he finished quietly.

"Truth," the mage popped up with, gaining a glare from the thief.

"Indeed, he knows much of this."

Elhan continued to look contemplative as he regarded them. "It would seem your travels have given you quite a bit of insight into the plans Irenicus has made. I wonder if you might be of service to us," he mused.

Harrian grimaced slightly, glancing sideways at the war mages. "Perhaps, but only if you call off your pets. I've proven trustworthy, I haven't lied, and I might be of useful. Now I'd rather you stopped interfering with my mind."

"Not much to interfere with," Jaheira, standing next to him, mumbled under her breath, but her expression was innocent as he looked sharply at her.

The elven leader made a slight steeple with his fingers. "You obviously bear no love for Irenicus, making you the enemy of our enemy. Classically speaking, this might make you our friend," he said, his mouth twisting in what threatened to be a smile. "And even if you are not, you cannot reach Irenicus without helping us. He is untouchable, save for one possibility; within the temple was an artefact of great power: the Rhynn Lanthorn. It is an ancient lantern, etched with the oldest of runes."

The first war mage nodded sagely, slowly yet with much eagerness. "The Lanthorn is attuned to the Elven nation, and no magic can bar its return to elven lands. We could simply… walk to Suldanessellar if we had possession of it."

"Someone stole the relic when the temple fell to the Drow. Obviously it was a servant of Irenicus capitalising on the chaos of the battle," the second mage interjected.

Elhan grimaced. "We have not been able to determine where the thief went, despite the best efforts of our sages. It makes me think that the Lanthorn is no longer in elven territory," he told them grimly.

"Aye," Harrian paused, thinking for a long moment. "It must have been Bodhi. She is the only one Irenicus would have entrusted with such an artefact."

"Truth."

"By all the gods, _will you **shut up**_?"

Elhan didn't bat an eyelid at Harrian's outburst. "Bodhi… hmm, you may know more than we about this situation after all. I propose we exchange our services.

Harrian folded his arms across his chest and glared. "No, I propose you tell me what in blazes Irenicus has against you people?" he snapped, his patience worn down, and it was only a cool breeze running over the back of his neck, reminding him of what he had returned to, which calmed him down.

"I cannot say more than I have. Perhaps if I had access to the city I would have insight, but as it stands, I am in the same situation you are." Harrian rolled his eyes with disbelief, but Elhan ignored this. "The attack came without warning, born in the mind of a human we did not know. This was not in the realm of possibility, and it remains as such. He has dealt with Drow, defiled our temple, and violated our city. His name is to be spit and spoken of as rarely as possible."

The first war mage shook his head, his expression something approaching anger and bordering on determination. "He is everything that elves are not!" the wizard declared, a little _too _forcefully, earning another glare from Harrian.

"If you know how to find the treacherous servant of this fiend, I suggest that you do it. You seek Irenicus, we seek Irenicus; to help us is to help yourself," Elhan pointed out, a little more brightly. "Find the Lanthorn. Seek outside elven lands in whatever location you think an important servant of Irenicus would be. Only then will we reach this man."

Harrian grimaced, irritable again. "I would appreciate it if you could give us some support, as we go to do your damned _bidding_, after all."

Elhan shook his head. "We cannot march on human territory. As great as our problems are, they would only get worse if we appeared to be sending agents into the cities of Amn," he replied, not sounding too apologetic.

A snort came from Anomen, and the cleric leant down a little to murmur in Harrian's ear. "This is a great evil we go to fight. I, for one, do not appreciate fighting battles for those that should stand for themselves," he said, frowning quite happy to continue glaring at an imperious-looking Elhan.

"You have travelled extensively; return to the groups you have already encountered and ask their aid. I am sure you will find some among them to help you," Elhan retorted, a little defensively. "They need not know the nature of the emergency, only that a great evil must be routed. The less who know of the shame brought by Irenicus, the better."

"At the very least, can you aid us with special supplies? Stakes, holy water, and such? I would rather not spend hard-earned gold on such a thing," Harrian replied lightly, not afraid to be a little petty.

Elhan hesitated, then nodded. "I have such things," he said at last, reaching into a chest by his foot and taking out three vials, passing them to Harrian. "The water is exceptionally potent and will prove effective against those that wronged the temple. The wrath of elven gods is in each vial," he explained. "It sounds as though you know the nature of the creature you must face," he continued. "Your service is now doubly appreciated."

Harrian nodded, then gestured to the rest of the party to be ready to move on. There was a moment's pause as he hesitated, glancing at Elhan again. "Before I go, what did you say about shame? What shame has Irenicus caused you?" he asked, frowning.

"It is not your concern," Elhan replied, again too quickly, his expression snapping shut and any politeness gone. There was another silence as the elf relented a little, still looking unhappy by all means. "His deeds will be apparent when we reach him. Until then, you should begin your task," he pressed.

"Fine," was all Harrian said by way of farewell as he thrust the three vials into the pouch at his waist and nodded towards the woods, judging from the sun the vague direction of the north but not prepared to do intensive navigation. "I suggest that we find ourselves a pleasant campsite," he told the party as they drew further away from the elven war camp. "I think… we deserve a night of rest and enjoyment."


	116. These Foolish Things

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Chapter 116: These Foolish Things

"Look up at that sky. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" Imoen asked lazily as the party slowly recovered from gorging themselves on the dinner she and Anomen had cooked that night. They were in a vague circle, leaning against logs and folded bedrolls, occasionally groaning in satisfaction after what seemed as if it had been the most sumptuous meal ever experienced. All eyes seemed turned skywards, the party either lost in thought or part of the rather vague conversation Imoen seemed to be leading.

"I would say… well, I am sure that there are things, but I cannot remember them now," Aerie sighed, shaking her head. "The sky… I have missed the sky." She shifted, briefly, frowning for a fraction of a second. "I miss the sky," she mumbled below her breath, but nobody seemed to hear this last comment.

"Boo likes it back here. He says the Underdark was bad for his fur. Made it all greasy."

There was silence as the party paused to digest this little nugget of wisdom, none of them quite sure how to answer it and wondering how to avoid insulting the big ranger. Eventually, Jaheira managed to save them by slowly clambering to her feet and picking up the large, now fairly cool, pot their dinner had been cooked in. "I shall see to cleaning this in the stream," she offered, starting to collect the pots and plates that had been used that night.

Harrian nodded, sitting up, and glancing around at the rest of the party. "Sleep time, you lot, then. We have a long march back to Athkatla tomorrow, and I want you all bright and fresh." He smirked slightly, stretching a little. "Be happy. Times are still going to be hard, but… we're out, we're free, and though there's a battle ahead, take pride in what we have achieved, and remember that we're still alive. And we're going to stay that way."

Imoen rolled her eyes as she started towards the tent she shared with Aerie – after Anomen's discreet moaning, Harrian had thought it best to give Imoen a sleeping partner who would actually remain in the tent, unless his sister had complained… which she hadn't. "You like the inspirational speeches, don't you?" the mage chuckled, pulling aside the folds of the entrance to the tent. "Good night, all."

There were a few moments of 'good night's as the party dispersed, heading for their respective tents as Jaheira disappeared amongst the trees, heading for the river nearby. Harrian also stayed where he was, standing and staring into the crackling fire at the centre of the camp. Staying on watch was really quite unnecessary – there was an entire contingency of elves not a kilometre away, so anything serious could be easily fended off! – but it was a safety that might be needed.

However, he could also wander a little, remaining within hearing distance of the camp, and still stay attentive enough of dangers, couldn't he. Couldn't he? Especially if it was a very important wander…

__

Just go, you idiot.

He did, turning on his heel and forcing himself to purposefully stride out into the trees towards where Jaheira had disappeared with the cooking pots. The ground was not so overgrown with weeds that trekking through the twenty or so metres of woodland was very laborious, but the trees were thick enough that he disappeared from sight quickly.

As the swashbuckler left the campsite, Anomen's head poked from out of his tent, and he glanced around quickly before emerging entirely, cloak wrapped over his shoulders, flail in his hand as he moved over to sit on one of the logs before the fire. It would not be hard for him and Minsc to share Harrian's watch between them.

Harrian knew he wouldn't be even slightly stealthy in his approach; knew that she'd hear him the moment he was even vaguely close, but did his best to not crash through the undergrowth like a troll. Such a thing wouldn't do at all.

Indeed, Jaheira was already looking at the direction of the noise he was making as he emerged suddenly through the trees, pulling a twig from out of his hair to stand on the banks of the river. He was suddenly reminded of that day, so many, many weeks ago on the way to Trademeet, when she had stood there and told him… told him she had faith in him. What a great abuse of that faith he had achieved.

"You wanted something?" the druid asked curtly, turning around once she had vaguely acknowledged his presence and kneeling before the river, dipping the big pot in the shallows and scrubbing at it quickly.

"I wanted…" Harrian's voice trailed off as the speech he'd rehearsed in his head a thousand times, had spent weeks practising and days fine-tuning flew out of his head. He paused for a moment, then took a tentative step forwards. "I wanted to talk. To you, I mean."

"Well, yes. If you didn't want to talk to me, I doubt you'd be here," Jaheira replied dryly, still not looking up at him. "What did you want to talk about, exactly?" There was a long silence as Harrian continued to gather his thoughts. "Well? This century?"

The thief frowned, silently cursing himself for his lack of a clue. "Well, there are lots of things that bear discussion," he started uncomfortably, then finally managed to get a grip on himself. "But the one that seems the most important would be… us."

She finally dropped the pot, and stood up to look at him, one eyebrow archer, green eyes flashing. "I assumed that, as far as you were concerned, there was no 'us' for you to start a discussion about," she commented accusingly.

"And I assumed that you'd remember me saying that we would talk the moment something was sorted. We're out of the Underdark. Something's sorted," Harrian murmured, a little pleadingly. "Please, Jaheira, at least… at least hear me out; don't dismiss me. You're within your rights to, but I'm asking you… not to."

She glared, folding her arms across her chest and glowering a little. "Very well. You wish to talk, and I shall grant your request. So go on. Talk."

Harrian hesitated at her tone, then stepped back and began to pace a little, hands clasped behind his back. "I've been… an idiot, for so long. I know I have. And whilst there are reasons, there aren't… excuses." He paused, and raised his head to look at her full on. "I feel emptier without a soul. It's as if everyone has taken my emotions, my thoughts, and hacked away a large chunk of them, leaving only a hint of what was there, and many echoes. Or that someone has placed a muffler around them." There was another silence, and he turned to stare at the moonlight reflecting off the river for a moment. "Except for the dark emotions. They… they seem to be exaggerated."

Jaheira shifted her feet a little. "You have told me what you suffer without your soul. If this is a promise to address the topic of 'us' once you have your soul back, it is a thoroughly unnecessary discussion."

"I'm not saying that," Harrian insisted defensively. "Hear me out. I… I have lost my soul, I suffer these things, and whilst that affects me – and downright confuses the hells out of me too – it doesn't mean that I can get away with being a complete bastard to anyone. Least of all you," he said in a rush, his defensive tone giving his voice a little power, and he grimaced as he turned to face her again.

"Perhaps, but you have acted as such, and acknowledging it will not undo what has been done," Jaheira reasoned.

"True, but acknowledging it may mean I can do something to change it," Harrian replied quickly. "Jaheira, I… I have been yelled at by everyone to see sense, I have had it hammered into my brain by everyone _including myself _to sort this matter out and to gain a modicum of human decency. I ignored it because I wanted to, but I can ignore it no longer because this has gone on for far too long – it was too long the moment that it started." There was a long silence as he stared at the shocked druid. "Jaheira, I… I made a mistake. I was wrong, so very wrong, and… and I'm sorry."

She stared at him dubiously, as if she expected him to laugh and then run off, or some other thing to happen to undermine everything he just said. "You _were_ wrong," the druid agreed quietly, frowning. "And you made a big mistake. Saying sorry does not… saying sorry does not make up for the month of anguish, of you choosing to be afraid and making others, making _me _suffer because of it. Losing your soul is no excuse, not in the long-term, as you proved yourself _more _than capable of that emotion only days after it had been ripped _from _you," she snapped, though there was an odd quaver in her voice which made Harrian surprised and distinctly guilty.

"I know," he said at last, quietly, nodding slowly.

"No, you do _not _know! You cannot understand what you did!" Jaheira snapped, shaking her head. "I lost Khalid… I _lost him_… and for the longest time, I thought that that was it. I thought I could not love again, _should not _love again, and thought that my life was over. I stayed for vengeance, and I stayed for you; I would not abandon you when you needed me.

"But then, slowly, you managed to change all that. Though I denied it, you gave me hope that I _could _live again, that I might love again, and that there were things left to fight for beyond duty. You encouraged me to believe, and I did believe. I believed, Harrian. And then you tore it all down by then slamming the door shut in my face so selfishly!" the druid snapped, her voice wracked with emotion as the expressionless mask on her face began to melt slowly.

He closed his eyes, looking at the floor. "I… I know," he mumbled miserably. "I'm –"

"Don't say that you are sorry. That changes nothing, and it is just… it is just words!" Jaheira snapped, shaking her head. There was a long silence as she stared at him, calming down a little. "You do not get to do that to me. You do not get to give me hope again and then destroy it as you did. And you do _not _get to then turn around weeks later and extend hope again, simply _assuming _that I will leap back, come when called, riding your mood swings quite happily and catering to _your _whims, _your _wishes. I will not do that."

Harrian's expression collapsed, but there was nothing even approaching complaint or defensiveness as he nodded at last, his eyes empty. "I… I understand." He took a deep breath, backing off slowly. "I… you're right of course. You're right. I'll… I'll go," he mumbled, turning and heading for the trees.

Jaheira watched him walk off, feeling her heart rend in too, and closed her eyes at last. _You were right_, a voice inside of her said. _You were right. Everything you said back there was right._

But there was an awful lot you didn't say, either. Jaheira paused as Anomen's words of not even a week ago echoed in her head. _'This life is too short to throw away chances on matters of pride, especially when the chances are of love'._

Her head snapped up quickly, and the thought processes had evidently only taken a second, for the Bhaalspawn was only just beginning to weave his way through the trees. "Harrian!" she called out quickly.

He whirled around instantaneously, and although he hid it swiftly, there was a flicker of hope on his face, a hope she wasn't sure she had the strength to stamp out. She took a brief step forward, hand outstretched. "There is a 'however'…"

The look on Harrian's face was one she would remember for a long time. Shock and surprise reigned for the first millisecond, then as her words sank in, a smile tugged at his lips. "A 'however'," he repeated, looking curious and amused and utterly _delighted _all at once. "The good kind?"

Despite herself, despite what he had done, despite what might lie ahead, she couldn't stop herself from smiling a little. "The best kind. The kind full of chances, where one doesn't dismiss something which could be of value," Jaheira replied dryly.

The smile on his lips developed into a fully fledged grin as he practically flew out of the trees, grabbing her by the hand and waist and whirling her around a little as he held her in her arms. "I like the sound of that. I'll do my best not to ruin those chances… I promise you now," Harrian whispered, his face growing more serious, before he lowered his head and kissed her deeply.


	117. Break of Dawn

****

Chapter 117: Break of Dawn

Harrian wasn't all that used to sleeping out in the open air. When the party camped, he would have the shelter of a tent, and in a city, the comfort of an actual bed. His fondness for the outdoors usually rather depended on the weather, which was why he was quite happy it hadn't rained the night before. He did wish he'd brought a blanket with him, however, as his cloak, thick and heavy as it was, didn't cover two people all that well. The inevitable result was that they'd had to snuggle a bit more, so he wasn't going to complain _too _loudly.

The sun rising over the treetops woke him up, pulling him from slumber to snoozing, keeping his eyes shut and revelling in the morning. It as only a poke in the ribs from the conscious druid by his side which roused him fully.

He jerked upright, his cloak sliding off him, and blinked groggily as he began to completely wake up. "What was hat for?" he demanded, a little petulantly, as he fixed Jaheira with a half-glare.

"The sun is up, the day is here, and do you really want the others to stumble across us here?" Jaheira pointed out, rolling over and fishing around for her tunic.

"Whoever interrupts us is on watch for the whole of tonight," Harrian replied deftly, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back to him to kiss her again.

"He felt her melt a little, resistance waning as they fell back down onto the grass, her arms encircling his neck. He began to smile through the kiss, broadly enough that he had to break it, and pulled back a little to regard her. Despite the smile which lingered, there was a deep seriousness in his dark eyes as he looked at her. "Jaheira… you know I –"

"Harrian! Where in the blazes are you… oh, Helm!" Anomen's exclamation was one of surprise and slight irritation, but there was also a touch of delight lingering there. He side-stepped quickly as a heavy boot flew through the air and hit the branch next to his head. "Ah… perhaps I should… yes, I'll tell the others that the two of you will be arriving… shortly," the cleric stammered, turning then veritably flying back through the trees.

Harrian flopped back down on his back on the grass. "Alright, alright, you win," he told Jaheira ruefully, an arm reaching out to find his trousers. "But when we get back to Athkatla, I'm sending them all out on a pointless quest so they're out of our hair as we lock ourselves in the Delryn estate for a good two days."

She glanced over, vaguely amused as she raised an eyebrow at him. "You assume much," Jaheira retorted dryly as she grabbed his tunic.

His smile was a little playful, even with the grimace on his face. "Sorry."

"And stop saying that," the druid continued, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead. "Actions speak louder than words."

"Then I'll have to prove myself when we get back to Athkatla, shan't I?" Harrian replied, smirking a little as he sat up and stretched groggily.

They dressed quickly so as not to bring down another wandering party member on a hint for them, and made their way back through the trees, following the scent of cooking that filled the air to navigate the place which looked so very different by daylight.

Anomen was tending to the large pot sizzling over a fire in the middle of the camp, and bashfully didn't look up at them as they emerged from the trees. Imoen was smirking and trying not to as she dismantled her tent with Aerie; Edwin sat on a log poring over his spellbook, ignoring them; Haer'Dalis gave Harrian a little wink which infuriated the thief more than amused, and poor Minsc just looked clueless.

"That doesn't look much like a breakfast," Harrian noted as if nobody was giving them a second look as he approached Anomen. "More like a… stew."

"We have run out of supplies and had to hunt for the meat. Bacon does not roam freely," Anomen pointed out, and would have been a little peeved if he weren't so embarrassed, not meeting Harrian's eye.

"If you were any other cook I'd criticise you," Harrian declared dryly as he picked up a bowl and helped himself to a ladle of stew. "But the taste of fresh, normal meat is one I cannot pass on after eating stale break and gods know what in the Underdark."

"Aye. My mouth waters in anticipation of merely _imagining _,one of Mistress Thunderburp's sumptuous meals at the Five Flagons when we return. Not to insult your culinary skills, of course, my eagle," Haer'Dalis declared as he stepped up to the pot.

Anomen stared, stunned for a moment at his new title, but didn't have a chance to pass comment as Imoen stepped up. "And what of _my _culinary skills, hey?" the mage asked the bard teasingly. Harrian groaned and mumbled something about fleeing fireworks before rapidly departing, leaving a quick-thinking Haer'Dalis in a tight spot in his wake.

The bard pasted a smile onto his face as he turned to Imoen, and shrugged extravagantly. "As always, your meals are a delight to the palate of anyone vaguely refined… but you have other skills which surpass your cooking by far."

Anomen snorted, helping himself to a bowl of 'breakfast'. "If that was supposed to be a compliment to the lady, bard, then it was a particularly poor one – even by your lethargic standards," he interjected, evidently not even vaguely inclined to give Haer'Dalis any sort of victory in his presence.

Imoen's expression flickered, and she smartly decided to change the subject to avoid too much of a conflict, which seemed intent on arising. "I'll take it; you're the better cook anyway, Anomen," she said quickly, then felt both pleased and embarrassed as the cleric smiled shyly. "Besides, Haer'Dalis, I believe you owe the two of us some gold."

The shy smile became a smirk of Anomen's as he turned to face the bard. "Ah, yes, tiefling, indeed you do. That would be ten gold apiece, would it not?" he asked, giving Imoen a sideways glance.

Haer'Dalis looked taken aback for a moment, then gave an exaggerated scowl which took some sting out of his defeat. "It seems as if a love for entropy has left me out of pocket. Very well, since our raven and the druid appear to have made amends, I will give you your damnable gold," he told them indulgently, sighing dramatically as he shifted through his gold pouch at his waist for the money he owed them. "I would not suggest you waste it on drinks, either," he continued, striding off and heading towards Minsc, who was dismantling their tent.

Anomen raised an eyebrow as the bard walked off. "I believe that he is actually quite angry. This is the first time I've seen him display anything other than that dramatic patronising which seems to perpetually follow him."

Imoen frowned a little, and wanted to leap to Haer'Dalis's defence… but somehow, she couldn't find the words. She decided to instead just help herself to a bowl of the stew as her mind ticked over hurriedly. She and Anomen had hardly spoken since that night in the Svirfneblin village, and never one-on-one since then. It felt uncomfortable… there were times it seemed as if he was the only one who didn't know that she was a Bhaalspawn, and that had erected a silent barrier between the two of them.

__

Just tell him, a voice inside of her said. _He'll understand. He'll listen. He never judged Harrian, and he knows me. He knows that I'm not just a monster, a creature of murder_. Imoen suppressed a shudder quickly. _At least, he thinks that. Does anyone know whether or not I'm a creature of murder? I know I don't._

"Gold well won, my lady," Anomen continued, as if feeling he needed to fill the silence, and glanced over to where Harrian and Jaheira were seated, talking quietly together. "And it is good to see that things are well between them again. I don't think I've seen either of them smile like that in… far too long."

Imoen glanced over at where he was looking, then smiled softly and nodded. "I know. It's good to see them happy. They both deserve a bit of happiness." _Tell him! Gods, he'll understand. He won't judge you, or look at you differently_.

Anomen nodded slowly. "Aye. Though I cannot envy them. I see it being a hard path for them both." He frowned slightly. "Being a Child of Murder… what can that do to love? Or loving a Bhaalspawn." He sighed. "It will be hard for them both. Chaos will hound him, and so it will hound her, and though they may be happy now… will they be happy forever?"

The words froze in Imoen's mind even before she could form them in her mouth. _Does he really feel that way? Does he really think that it's… like that?_ There was a pause as she frowned. _Is he right?_ Imoen shrugged. "I… I suppose. It must be hard. But they'll get by. Somehow. They're both strong enough to." She looked away quickly, focusing on her bowl so as not to meet his eyes, meet his gaze.

Anomen nodded, utterly oblivious to how much his words had affected her. "We shall see. I suppose it is their lives, and up to them to live them. Certainly they are better with each other than without." He paused, then shifted slightly. "And you, my lady? Are you happy with Haer'Dalis?"

A piece of meat lodged itself in her throat, and she coughed vehemently in an attempt to dislodge it, despite the lack of air silently thankful that such a distraction had arisen to give her a few seconds to gather her thoughts.

His concerned hand landing on her shoulder made her jump as she stopped choking and spat the offending piece of food onto the floor, grimacing. "Ugh… I think that was just a chewy bit," she mumbled, rubbing her throat and managing to shrug off his hand without seeming too much as if she was running away. She'd be a fool to think he hadn't noticed, however.

There was a pause as she realised that his question couldn't be evaded – though he hadn't repeated it and didn't seem about to, there was a worry in his eyes which prompted her to continue. "Haer'Dalis? Haer'Dalis is… I don't even know. I suppose it does matter, but…"

She stopped as Harrian stood up, rubbing his eyes wearily and cast his gaze around the campsite. "Everyone?" he asked, raising his voice a little to get the attention of the whole party. "I think it's about time we got going. Anomen, stop killing Imoen; Minsc, stop suffocating Haer'Dalis with that tent canvas; Edwin, stop glaring at Aerie. We want to be back in Athkatla by nightfall." 


	118. On the March

****

Chapter 118: On the March

The sun was high in the sky by the time they'd reached the main road leading back to Athkatla, and the sight of familiar lands – for they had travelled this road on the trip to Trademeet and the Windspear Hills – brought up a slight cheer from the party. There were still many worries on their minds, some of more concerning than others, some party members more worried than others, but, for the moment, they were in the sunlight, travelling in a beautiful Amnish early summer, and they could enjoy the trip and their surroundings.

Haer'Dalis was cavorting a little, regaling Imoen and Minsc with poems, limericks and jokes as if there were no cares in the world – and indeed, for him, there didn't seem to be. His audience laughed on occasion, though Minsc did have to sometimes pause to get Boo to explain the more complicated puns, and Imoen seemed a little distracted at times. Edwin wandered to the side, mumbling to himself a bit, probably running through arcane experiments in his head. Harrian and Jaheira were in the lead, chatting lightly, laughing occasionally, probably not even themselves realising how much the lack of tension between them seemed to lighten the mood for everyone.

Well, almost everyone. Anomen, who'd been taking up the rear but was starting to realise that vigilance wasn't too necessary here and now, hurried forwards a few paces to fall into step with Aerie, who had been silent for most of the trip, not even joining in with Haer'Dalis's slightly captive audience.

"My lady Aerie," he started slowly, a little uncomfortably. "You seem fairly lost in thought. Is there much on this beautiful day which can concern you overly? We are free from that dark place, and it is a time for laughter." It had been a long time, Anomen realised quietly, that he'd seen anyone in the party laugh, least of all Harrian or Jaheira.

"Oh! Anomen!" Aerie started a little at his sudden appearance, jerked out of whatever reverie she'd been in, but a slightly shy smile crossed her face and she glanced sideways at him. "I… I suppose you're right. It is nice to be out in the sun. It is just… oh, nothing." She shook her head, still a little shy.

The cleric raised an eyebrow at her, grinning a little. "Come now, Aerie. We are all friends in this party. As you've seen, we do our best to help one another. What ails you? I shall do my utmost to help."

"I'm sure you would, Anomen, but I do not think you can," Aerie replied, a little more forcefully as her eyes flickered to the front of the party. Her worries weren't something Anomen could change or assuage, and it would be completely out of place to bring them up anyway.

She wasn't going to deny – well, to herself, anyway – that she had been attracted to Harrian. He had been kind to her, had listened to her problems, and had, above all, been able to understand. Once the truth about him and Jaheira had reached her ears, she'd realised that it would all be for nothing, but seeing them together _did _set off a slight, mild pang. Still, with hindsight, looking back on her feelings, it wouldn't be too hard to place them as nothing more than those of someone lost and confused getting attached to the only person who had even given her a second glance.

__

Well, not the only person, Aerie thought wryly, glancing over at Haer'Dalis, but decided not to speak that thought. "What do you think of this party, Anomen?" she asked the cleric at last, thoughtfully.

"What do I think?" Anomen asked, a little taken aback. He hadn't really thought about that for a while. The party simply… _was_. "I… an odd bunch, to tell the truth, my lady. I have travelled with most of them for several months now, and must confess that I have never encountered such a mismatched group of adventurers in my life."

Aerie smiled again despite herself, nodding. "I have noticed that there are certain… oddities," she confessed.

"A Bhaalspawn leader, a widowed druid, an addled Rashemani ranger, a pink-haired mage, a tiefling bard, a Thayvian Red Wizard, a fallen knight, and a wingless Avariel," Anomen commented, perhaps a little too bluntly in regards to the 'wingless Avariel' but not really noticing it. "Though I suppose I am not a fallen knight, strictly speaking," he conceded.

"I like… most of you," Aerie admitted. "Minsc is nice… he's kept me company on the long marches, and I do feel a little sorry for him, as he clearly has his troubles…but he seems happy about them." She shrugged. "And he's very quick to leap to my defence whenever Edwin goes on the offensive."

"Ah, yes… the Thayvian," Anomen commented, his expression darkening a little. "I do not anticipate his remaining in our company for very long. He did his best to trick us in the Underdark, I am sure of it. He joined us for a purpose, and has served that purpose. When we reach Athkatla, Harrian would do well to hand him whatever riches he wants and then send the Red Wizard on his way. We no longer need him."

"I hope Harrian sees that," Aerie replied quietly.

"Jaheira sees that, so it will be done," he said, smirking wryly. They both laughed briefly, and in the distraction, Anomen let his gaze wander over the party, instantly drawn to where Haer'Dalis was still telling jokes. Imoen had been watching him, and their eyes met for a split second before she looked away quickly, focusing intently on the bard's antics. Anomen held the gaze for longer, knowing she would know that he was still looking at her and not particularly caring.

"And then there's Haer'Dalis," Aerie was musing, not entirely aware she didn't have his full attention. "Who has been trying very hard to ensure that I know that he's making me feel welcome. Tell me, does he quote poetry at every girl he meets?"

"Only the ones he's courting," Anomen murmured, then his head snapped round to look at her incredulously as her words sank in. An odd feeling, a mixture of fury and jubilation settled in his stomach, and he glowered at the bard. _Tiefling… tiefling, I will _kill _you, I swear, if you have been courting Imoen, earning her trust, only to…_

"Oh." Aerie didn't seem to know what to make of this. "Well, that's… that's nice. I mean, it is nice poetry, and he does seem to be a nice man…" She stopped, either not knowing what to say next, or searching for a valid word other than 'nice'.

An inkling of an idea entered Anomen's head, and firmly attached itself there before he could dismiss it. "He can be," the cleric said brightly, then mentally kicked himself. No, this girl didn't deserve someone like Haer'Dalis… but then, she was clearly smart, was clearly quite capable of handling herself…

"And then there's you," Aerie continued, and the train of conversation they'd been having caused quite a big lack of understanding in Anomen's face as he looked completely shocked. Not noticing this, she glanced over at where Haer'Dalis, Minsc, and Imoen were still standing. "Your… fondness for her is quite clear. I don't know why you hold back."

Anomen shifted uncomfortably as comprehension set in. "I… ah… it is complicated, my lady," he stammered, shaking his head, but was saved from saying anything more by a shout up ahead from Harrian.

"Anomen! Come here a moment, would you? There are a few things I want to run by you," the swashbuckler called out, twisting around and walking backwards for a few strides as he gestured to the cleric.

Anomen nodded slowly, then smiled slightly at Aerie. "Duty calls, my lady. I would suggest you do your best to join in with the revelry over there, see if he has any more poetry for you," the Helmite said wryly before practically hopping off towards the front.

__

Anomen Delryn, you are truly acting like a complete and utter cad, the thought entered his mind. _But not to worry too much… everyone in this mad theatre of things is acting a cad. Besides, as I'm sure Haer'Dalis once said, 'All's fair in love and war'_, he remembered.

Harrian grinned at him as he fell into step with him and Jaheira. "Just the man," the Bhaalspawn said cheerily, clapping him on the back. "We were just going over our plans for what to do once we reach Athkatla, and it really did strike us that this party alone cannot really challenge Bodhi, especially if our numbers change very soon." There was a slight tone to his voice which suggested that he intended to bring about such a change.

"We do not have very many allies in Athkatla at all. We managed to alienate anyone who could have possibly helped us," Jaheira said dryly, giving Harrian a sideways glance which clearly blamed him for some of them.

Harrian smiled sheepishly. "We may have to mend some bridges. I'm going to test the water with the Shadow Thieves," he confessed, the idea making him grimace distinctly. "Some of the churches might help – I'd like you to look into that – but there's one other powerful group in Athkatla which would be predisposed to get rid of a group of vampires."

There was a long silence as realisation struck Anomen, and he grimaced slightly, but nodded slowly. "The Order," the cleric murmured. "They may not be inclined to trust us, but I doubt they will have much love for a vampiric cult."

"No, but I can't assume that they'll leap to our assistance, or won't even stab us in the back if we're down there," Harrian continued, nodding. "Leave the serious work for when we get back, as we don't know what's changed in our absence, but we don't have time for the whole party to run around currying favour with two big groups. If Jaheira, Haer'Dalis, Aerie and I deal with the Shadow Thieves whilst you, Imoen and Minsc handle the Order – talk to Keldorn, as well – would you have a problem with it? You'd be effectively in charge."

Anomen shook his head. "Whatever is needed. I do not think… that I can ignore the Order forever. For all they have done…" His voice trailed off, and he shrugged. "It can be done, have no fear," the cleric assured the party leader. It was only until a few minutes later that Anomen realised Harrian hadn't been counting Edwin in the group divide.


	119. Home Sweet Home

****

Chapter 119: Home Sweet Home

"Here's to… to never ending up in a vile and pitch-black place like the Underdark _ever again_!" Anomen declared, pausing a little to consider his toast as he raised his tankard along with the rest of the party. They were seated comfortably in the Five Flagons inn, having returned to Athkatla barely two hours before, and after leaving their affairs back at the Delryn estate, they had proceeded down to their old haunt for a large and lavish meal. Along with them was Sir Keldorn, meaning the group of now nine had to commandeer one of the larger tables and was a lot more distinctive than Harrian would have liked.

"Definitely! And no more Balors," Imoen interjected, clinking her own glass against Anomen's tankard. "And no drow, and no demons, and no eggs…"

"And no illithids," Aerie suggested with certainty, suppressing a shudder. "Or beholders, or Koa-Toa, or… or…"

"Anything from the darkness. Including dragons," Harrian finished, sipping his wine with a smug grin on his face, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table. "Unfortunately, whilst I see none of these things in our immediate future, there are other, equally unsavoury things in abundance." Silence fell on the table as the party members looked grim. "Sorry to ruin the mood," the Bhaalspawn continued. "But there are matters to address."

Imoen nodded unhappily. "Bodhi. And the Rhynn Lanthorn. And the elves." There was another long pause, and her eyes dropped to the table. "And Irenicus," she mumbled, then took a quick sip of her drink to hide the grimace.

Harrian merely shrugged regretfully. "These aren't things we can ignore. We need to find Irenicus. He's in Suldanessellar. To get to Suldanessellar, we need the Rhynn Lanthorn. Which Bodhi has." He looked around the table, leaning on his elbows. "I don't think this group here has resources to take on a horde of vampires by itself. Which is rather why I invited Sir Keldorn along as well – it was not just out of the goodness of my heart to thank him for keeping Anomen's house intact."

The grizzled paladin nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I expected as much. Ask what you will of me – however I can lend assistance to rid the city of a vile presence such as these vampires, I will be happy to assist."

"I'll be getting to that in a second," Harrian assured him, then scanned the table, his eyes eventually settling on the only Red Wizard in their numbers. "Edwin. You have performed the services we requested, and for that we are grateful. I believe it is here that this partnership ends," he said firmly, his eyes quite clearly saying that this was not up for debate.

Edwin nodded slowly, not shifting at all or showing any discomfort. "As I expected. I have matters I need to attend to, in any case." There was a pause as he leant forwards, a slight sneer crossing his face. "There is only the matter of my payment," he said firmly, raising an eyebrow with a superior air.

Harrian considered this for a fraction of a second. "Ten thousand gold, which we shall hand over when we return this evening. And… either the Staff of the Magi or the Robe of Vecna; take your pick." _We don't need either of them. He'll pick the staff, anyway, as the Robe of Vecna isn't red. Aerie can have the robe… if she stays._

There was a silence as Edwin contemplated his options, then nodded again at last. "I shall take the staff, the gold. That should be suitable, considering the fact that I constructed a portal for you monkeys (bah, I feel cheated here. If only it had been any _other _party on this endeavour, then I'd be rich beyond my wildest dreams…)."

The Bhaalspawn shrugged, glancing around again until his gaze settled on Aerie. There was an uncomfortable pause as her eyes flashed with… something. Shyness? Not too odd for the Avariel, but something was a little off. He filed this away for consideration later, then spoke. "Aerie, you are free to do as you wish. If you wish to leave, we can help you with any supplies you need, and wish you the best. However, if you want to remain with us, we could use someone of your skills."

Aerie nodded quickly, and there was no hesitation in her expression or voice. "I'd… I'd rather stay with the party, if that's alright. If I can help at all, I owe you a great deal already that I'd like to pay back. There is plenty of time in my life for other things to be done," she reasoned, smiling a little.

Harrian grinned back, and nodded. "Then it's settled. We have a group of seven. Which now leads to exactly why I asked Sir Keldorn to come here today." He looked straight on at the retired knight. "You still have connections with the Order, right?" he asked hopefully.

Keldorn nodded, then shrugged. "Though I am not held in quite the same esteem I was in before – and I have you to thank for that, my friend," the paladin commented wryly, "there are still friends I can talk to. I take it you want their assistance for uprooting the vampire's lair."

"I do," Harrian said. "We have not made that many friends in our time in Athkatla. I think it's time we rather tried to go back on that and make some amends. The Order does no need to be persuaded that I am a risk, but I doubt they will stand by idly if there is this sort of evil to be removed. Even if it will be spiting a Bhaalspawn."

"I know you have a low opinion of the Order, my friend, but not everyone is going to act as Wessallen and Trawl did. You have encountered many people in the past who fear you because of your nature; they are no different. You are an oddity, Corias. They do not see the world in black and white as you may believe, but because of who, or what, you are, they see you as a dangerous shade of grey. Remember, they never condemned you, or attacked you, or judged you because of your Bhaaltaint – they merely asked me to watch you."

"And were ready to eject Anomen from the Order if he was going to remain in my company," Harrian mumbled bitterly. "I had done nothing to suggest that I was an evil influence, or even evil a little bit. Bhaaltaint alone does not make darkness."

"They don't know that. The Order is not completely clueless in how to handle Bhaalspawn – there have been others in the past they have encountered, and they tended to lean more to the side of darkness," Keldorn reasoned. "You had done nothing to suggest that you were an evil influence, but then again, you had done nothing to suggest you were benign. Since then, you have more good deeds to your name – freeing Keep De'Arnise, helping Garran Windspear, and freeing the Umar Hills from their Shade Lord. Before, you were almost perfectly in the middle, with neither good or evil deeds attached to you, and _that_, I believe, is what made them wary. The uncertainty."

Harrian shrugged, throwing his hands in the air a little. "To be honest, I don't need their approval. I would like it, and it would make my life easier if I wasn't seen to be a dangerous killer by an Order of paladins. We _are _on the same side after all, and I have nothing against paladins themselves." There was a pause, and his expression darkened. "The fact that we killed Ajantis and others in the Windspear hills didn't, I think, help us that much."

"An illusion. They know that. If you come before them, explain the situation, explain that you need their help to uproot evil, you shall not find the Order wanting. They will listen to you, I am sure," Keldorn assured Harrian.

The Bhaalspawn shrugged. "That's nice, but I'm not the one who's going to be handling it. That's up to you, Anomen," he said, nodding at the cleric. There was a pause, and Harrian managed to look mildly concerned. "That is, if you have no problems with such a duty being given you," he back-pedalled a little.

Anomen shook his head. "There is nothing to be done here that I will not have to eventually face. I cannot ignore the Order forever, and they cannot ignore me. I am not anticipating any cheerful reconciliation on our part, but, as you said, it is not good to have paladins as your enemies." He shrugged. "Besides, I do still have friends within the Order."

"Good. Then it's settled," Harrian said, nodding. "Anomen, you, Imoen and Minsc will go with Sir Keldorn to the Order's headquarters tomorrow and try to get our pleading done for our cause. Also, stop by the temples of Helm and Lathander; see if they're willing."

Imoen glanced curiously at him. "What will the rest of you be doing," she asked lightly, curiously.

Harrian grimaced a little. "Jaheira, Haer'Dalis, Aerie and I will be trying to gather support from the Shadow Thieves," he said grimly, not in the least hiding his unhappiness. "It is not the most ideal of solutions, but they have their own problems with Bodhi and her guild, and I do not doubt that it is in their best interests to join forces and help us get rid of the vampires." His grimaced deepened. "I just need to make sure they don't stab us in the back again. Somehow."


	120. Path of Honour

****

Chapter 120: Path of Honour

__

It has been a long time since I have walked these halls, Anomen thought ruefully as he, Imoen, Keldorn and Minsc pushed open the doors to the Headquarters of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart and stepped inside, the coolness of the stone walls and marble floors creating a pleasant contrast to the blistering heat of the outdoors.

They would be watched, he knew. Knights gave them odd, sideways glances as they strode in, doing, as Anomen had advised, their very best to not seem nonplussed by any unwanted attention. Though it would make little or no difference to the reason they had come here, it would, as he would admit only to himself, make him feel distinctly more confident about returning to this place.

He was glad Harrian had given him the company he had. Keldorn's presence was, as always, reassuring – though the aged Inquisitor had retired from the Order, he still gave certain knights familiar nods of greeting, wearing the halls like a second suit. Next to Keldorn, Anomen commanded respect, and next to Keldorn, he would not be ejected or set upon on sight. Keldorn had uses.

That didn't mean he wouldn't turn and run, however. It was the others who did that. Mighty Minsc with his Boo, who walked with such a confidence that, although Anomen knew the confidence was born more of bewilderment than anything else, it reassured the cleric no end – with Minsc by your side, it was easy to believe that you could take on the world, and that he would follow you to the end of it.

Then, of course, there was Imoen. Imoen, without a Haer'Dalis next to her to stare Anomen in the eye and with a smug grin remind him of all his failings, all his shortcomings, all the reasons why he couldn't win her heart. Imoen, who could just give him that smile of hers – not the broad and bright grin which lifted his spirits, but the encouraging, softer smile that lifted his soul – and he'd be ready to take on the world… with Minsc.

Anomen exchanged a brief nod with a slightly surprised Irlana, who clearly hadn't expected him to be there, but otherwise kept his eyes on where he was going, focusing on the great hall again, knowing he could make it there without turning and fleeing. He had Keldorn and Imoen flanking him, Minsc behind him, so knew he wouldn't get too far if his nerve failed, but if it faltered just once, this could be the end of this.

__

I need to do this. For Harrian, for the party, and for myself. Bodhi needs to be defeated, and I have old ghosts that need to be put to rest, his mind insisted, and he steeled himself as they entered the great hall of the Radiant Heart. They were all decked out in all their finery, Anomen in the deep forest green of the Gorgon Plate taken from Ardulace; Keldorn in his golden plate given to him by Torm; Imoen in the sparkling emerald of her elven chain male; Minsc in the deep, glossy red of Firkraag's dragon scales. With this and their respective powerful weapons – Anomen desperately hoped Minsc could keep Lilarcor silent at this time – he knew they cut quite an impressive sight, bearing the spoils of their adventures. Two dragons, a lich, the Twisted Rune, an illithid city and the Underdark; quests and perilous endeavours most knights only dreamt about.

__

I'd still be dreaming if I'd left. What had we done at that point? Freed Trademeet, secretively and accidentally killed a serial killer, stolen from the Cowled Wizards and a noble of the city. Hardly great deeds. Though there is a statue with my name on it in Trademeet…

__

Actually, it says 'Follower of Harrian', but let's not quibble, he remembered dryly, also remembering that entire incident with a vague amount of amusement – how easy things had seen in those days, when Irenicus was a threat they could deal with at their leisure and the only thing hanging over anyone's head were the Harpers, who hadn't really bothered Anomen that much. Things had changed. A lot.

Wessallen was, amazingly, actually in the main hall and not in his office, as he usually was. Anomen wondered for a moment if Keldorn had called ahead and let them know so they could prepare themselves, but then realised that preparation would have probably consisted of a dozen knights to forcefully eject them.

The Prelate gave them a long and considerate look as they approached, his gaze giving Imoen and Minsc – irrelevant outsiders – merely a cursory glance, his attention quite obviously on Keldorn and Anomen. He turned and faced the party, Sir Ryan Trawl hurrying from the wings and managing to assume a suitably impassive countenance.

"Keldorn, my old friend," Wessallen greeted the retired knight warmly, stepping forwards and shaking his hand. The Inquisitor seemed a little stiffer, but smiled broadly and nodded respectfully as the Prelate approached. "It has been far too long. The Order feels the loss of your dutiful hand."

Keldorn gave another deep, courteous nod. "And I feel the loss of the Order in my life too, Prelate, but I have a family to fill the hole that left. There is indeed evil left to be dealt with on this world, but I shall leave it to those who have strength left in their veins and youth in their limbs. There are many others to continue the fight," he said shrugging a little and smiling a smile which had a touch of nostalgia in it.

The Prelate pulled back slowly and gave him an evaluating look. "And yet here you are, in all your finery, the Firecam plate out of its closet and gleaming as much as it ever did," Wessallen pointed out inquisitively, giving the others long looks, his eyes eventually settling on Anomen. "Lord Delryn. You honour us with your presence," he stated at last, respectfully, but with the hardening of his eyes and the slight clenching of his jaw, the temperature seemed to drop to freezing levels.

"Prelate. It is an honour to be back in this walls," Anomen replied in carefully measured tones, giving a deep nod which crept on the edges of being a slight bow. "Though I fear that this is not a social call."

Trawl stepped forwards, waiting for a glance from the Prelate to give him the right to get involved, and clasped his hands behind his back. "I do believe you were told that you would not be welcome back here, Lord Delryn. However, you have come here peacefully, and if there is something you wish of us, then we shall hear you out."

Anomen nodded briefly. _You will hear me out whether you want to or not. This is not the time for posturing, Sir Ryan. I looked up to you once, and I still respect you very much, but I will not allow pettiness or bureaucracy to stand in the way of what must be done_. "Vampires," he said briefly, not explaining too much. "Harrian Corias is committed to wiping out the den of vampires that reside in the government district. And he requests the aid of the Order in this endeavour."

The Prelate took a little taken aback and a little disappointed at the same time. "You still travel in the company of Corias?" Wessallen asked, then shook his head, dismissing the question for another time. "Vampires. We know of the vampires, and have been watching them. With the activity beginning to take place in Tethyr, many of our knights have been riding south, and so there are not many left within Athkatla. We needed to evaluate their strength before establishing whether or not we could destroy them on our own."

"And a small band of adventurers would make little difference," Trawl pointed out, with a touch of disdain but mostly with a blunt, matter-of-fact air even as he evaluated how well-equipped the foursome were.

"You are not the only allies we seek," Anomen explained, not sure that he should elaborate _too _much and mention just who else the party was going to for help.

"Corias this very moment is talking with the Shadow Thieves to gain their aid," Keldorn declared solemnly, making the decision for Anomen. "They have their own guild war with Bodhi's vampires. If all the strengths in Athkatla turn on these creatures of darkness, they should be overrun."

Wessallen considered this for a moment, nodding slowly, then gave Anomen a contemplative look. "And why is Corias interested in wiping out the vampires? Indeed, he was captured by them, but that was over a month ago and you have been busy with other matters. It seems… a little late for vengeance, perhaps?"

"It's not vengeance," Imoen popped in, evidently not being in the least bit happy with sitting out for this. "We need an elven artefact, the Rhynn Lanthorn – well, the elves need it, and we need to give it to them." There was a touch of desperation in her voice, as if there was more to the story, but only Anomen knew her enough to hear it, and frowned with mild confusion… but made no comment.

The Prelate nodded. "Very well. We shall lend our blades to your cause, Anomen. Since our last dealings with him, he has proven himself to be honourable, and has deeds of true righteousness attached to his name. Even if we must fight alongside Shadow Thieves, it is the lesser of two evils. The activities of the Thieves' Guild tend to be self-contained. They do not prey directly on all that is good and righteous." He gave them all a half-bow. "I shall see to arranging a fighting force, and send you word when we have one," Wessallen continued, before turning and heading towards the back of the Hall, towards where his office was.

Trawl looked at the group for a moment, something evidently weighing on his mind. He grimaced a little, then approached Anomen, looking contemplative. "If you would listen to me, Lord Delryn, I would have a word with you," he said quietly, nodding towards the corridors.

Anomen glanced at the others, then, as Imoen and Keldorn gave him encouraging nods and Minsc just smiled brightly, looked back at Trawl. "Very well, Sir Ryan. If you have something worth saying, I shall hear you out as you just heard me out."

The two men detached themselves from the group and moved away from the main hall, moving to stand near the tapestries and statues of the far wall, the senior knight evidently with matters weighing on his mind.

"There has been much talk and much debate since your leaving, Anomen," Trawl explained slowly. "Especially with Corias eventually coming forth to show himself as not being bound by his blood. Questions have been raised as to why you were pressured into leaving the Order, why you chose to."

"What has happened is done and dealt with," Anomen replied coolly. "I shall not lose sleep over what may have been if we had all done differently; I have found my life, found my way in the world. The past is to be the past."

"True. True indeed." Trawl nodded, then frowned a little. "There is no need for there to be animosity between you and the Order, however. As a noble of Athkatla we hope you will favour the Radiant Heart as others do. There is no need for the distance that has prevailed these past months."

"No." Anomen paused, looking up at him. "This is not why you wished to speak with me in private, however," he pointed out.

"It is not," Trawl admitted. "If you would do it, the Order would be grateful for your assistance. Do not think that this is in exchange for our assisting you with the vampire Bodhi; she is a force for evil and we would not consider refusing if we can aid you at all. We are not brigands like the Shadow Thieves – the deed is payment enough. But if you are willing to help us, we would be grateful."

Anomen's eyes narrowed with mild suspicion. "What would you have of me?"

"You know how hard the road to knighthood is, Anomen. You travelled it successfully, but not without its troubles. Some are not as successful. Some falter and fail when they get there," Trawl started, and Anomen glanced up, searching for accusation… yet found none. Sir Ryan looked merely sincere and hopeful. "You know of Sir Anarg, do you not?" Trawl continued.

"Of course. He Fell only a short time before I left the Order," Anomen replied, his voice quite and a little solemn. Paladins who were Fallen tended to be spoken of in hushed tones when they were former companions, especially in a place such as this hall.

"Others have followed in his wake," Trawl elaborated grimly. "There is now a group of perhaps a dozen Fallen Paladins in Athkatla. They have become little more than a mere rabble now, acting as thugs and mercenaries, though still proclaiming themselves to be paladins of good and righteousness," he explained. At Anomen's slightly aghast expression, Trawl nodded. "If any of our number attempt to deal with them, only battle will follow. If it is possible to resolve the matter peacefully, we would wish to. Anomen, they will know you only as the knight who walked away from the Order, and might even give you respect for it. Would you help us?"

"How would you expect me to… 'deal' with Anarg and his men?" Anomen asked, frowning a little, the confusion visible on his face. "If you do not want them killed, what is it you want? Redemption?" There was a slight sneer on his face which he managed to keep under control.

"Perhaps," Trawl said. "I do not want the only option available to be bloodshed. If you do not, we will have to send our own knights to deal with them, and there will be death on all sides. Whatever you can do, Anomen, would be appreciated. I am sure we can find a way in which to show our gratitude." At this final sentence, there was a tilt to his head and a gleam in his eyes which made Anomen's own eyes widen slightly.

"I will have to talk to the others; I cannot speak for them and assume that they will help me. We were only supposed to be here to gather support. But if they will, then I shall aid you however I can," Anomen insisted quickly, reverently, trying to ignore the slight spark of hope within him that had been set off by Trawl's words and body language.


	121. Shadows of the Past

****

Chapter 121: Shadows of the Past

Harrian drew his cloak further around him as the group entered the Docks District. He knew that he'd be recognised the moment he approached, with his distinctive companions and the fact that most Shadow Thieves would know to look for him, but he still felt vulnerable if he was presenting himself to the world without discretion or protection.

Jaheira stood tall beside him, grey eyes coolly evaluating the area for any possible threats, one hand resting on the hilt of Belm by her waist. He was glad she was there – their aim today was something which was necessary if they were to have a chance in a fight against Bodhi's vampires, but it would require confronting quite a few skeletons hidden in closets. It wasn't the sort of thing he'd particularly like to do alone.

"So… why do we need to be so careful in asking the Shadow Thieves? What have they… they done which makes them so dangerous?" Aerie asked, a little confused as she clutched her quarterstaff, giving some of the thugs in the vicinity wary glances which held none of Jaheira's venom but nearly as much caution.

"Aye, my raven," Haer'Dalis interjected. "In all of the dealings with the Shadow Thieves we have passed upon, you frequently insisted that they couldn't be trusted, that you would lie in your grave before bargaining with them, even for Imoen's sake… why is it, then that you will change your mind now?"

Harrian came to a halt, frowning, and gave Jaheira a pained glance. The druid shrugged slightly, shaking her head and silently telling him that she wasn't going to get involved here. "I'm not really sure this is the time for a history lesson," he sighed.

"No? If we are walking into the lions' den, then is it not the best of times to tell us what we must be wary of?" Haer'Dalis asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. "After all, we do need to make sure they do not repeat whatever foul deed the committed before, and we cannot do so without _knowing _what the deed was."

The Bhaalspawn sighed, rolling his eyes, evidently not in the state of mind to argue with the tiefling. "They're different Shadow Thieves. I'm not expecting a re-enactment of what happened up north," he mumbled, starting to walk again.

"Then… then why have you refused to work with the Guild this far south if they're completely different?" Aerie pointed out tentatively, her expression flickering only a little as he gave her a sideways rueful glare.

"Because," Harrian replied shortly, plainly deciding to use this as the basis for all of his arguments.

"Because what?" Aerie asked.

He glared again, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Alright. It doesn't matter right now, but none of you will shut up unless I do your evil bidding so…" Harrian's voice trailed off as he shook his head, picking up the pace. "It was in Baldur's Gate, after Sarevok's death. We… the party… were heroes, effectively, and had been looking to split up, go our separate ways. Minsc and Dynaheir were going to return to Rashemen, the rest of us were to stay in Baldur's Gate for a short while. I don't know what you and Khalid planned," Harrian murmured, throwing a slightly guilty glance at Jaheira, "but Immy and I were looking to stay in the city for a while, become involved in the Thieves' Guild. At the time, they were independent of the Shadow Thieves, who really kept their business fairly limited to Athkatla, but as the weeks went by and we performed several tasks, it became clear that there was southern influence here. A war had been averted, and links were being made. The Shadow Thieves had no qualms about letting their ambitions be known by those in the underworld."

Harrian came to a halt as the group reached an alleyway, clearly out of the way of the flow of people enough for him to think that the explanation could be continued discreetly. "Alatos Thuibuld –" A slight smirk at the name "– who was really little more than a puppet of the Shadow Thieves at that point, and I would not be surprised if there had been a real Guildmaster from the south in place at that stage, wanted us to perform a little task. Retrieve some Halruaan artefacts which were exchanging hands at the house of a local noble. An easy task, or so you'd think. It wasn't hard for Imoen and me to steal them discreetly, and the whole party headed back to the guild. Where they then tried to kill us."

Aerie looked shocked. "Why? You'd… you'd done as they'd asked, didn't you?"

"Yes, and that was the problem. A Halruaan mage who had 'encouraged' the guild to get us to perform this task wanted to keep a lid on things. I don't think the Shadow Thieves were to get paid if the lid was not placed. We managed to escape from the guild, then found a bounty on our heads, placed by people a little more competent than Sarevok's lackeys. After two attacks in as many days, it was thought best we leave the city," Harrian related grimly. "So we did, and were shortly after seized by Irenicus. I presume that, in the months we were missing, the Shadow Thieves assumed we were out of the picture, or maybe a group claimed responsibility for our disappearance. Either way, what we had done in Baldur's Gate was irrelevant by the time we got here."

"But they were going to kill you just to keep you quiet, even though you'd done everything right and just knew more than you ought to," Aerie mused, frowning. "That's horrible."

Harrian shrugged. "It's the price of doing business. Just means that I'm not too inclined to do business with the Shadow Thieves anymore, because they have no qualms about double-crossing me if it suits them. I never expected there to be honour amongst thieves, but I really only expected that they'd try to kill me for some reason _other_ than doing all that they asked," he replied dryly.

"But now we must overlook this if we are going to defeat Bodhi," Jaheira pressed, gesturing that they should continue. "And for this, we need to seek an audience with Renal Bloodscalp."

Harrian wrinkled his nose. "Well, yes. At first. But he's not the one we really want to talk to," the Bhaalspawn said hesitantly, picking up the pace once more as they approached the large building Tellis had told them was the Shadow Thief main guildhall.

"Who is?" Aerie asked, but the question fell on deaf ears as Harrian pushed open the door and stepped inside the dark and shadowy entrance to the hall, his cloak still wrapped around him so as to hide the fact that he was doubtless keeping a firm hold on the hilt of the Daystar.

They weren't given that many glances as the four of them stepped in. People would evidently be coming and going all the time in this dark place, bustling with rogues and other unscrupulous characters. A fence stood by a table covered in various suspicious wares. Several shady figures loitered in shadowy corners, only the glint of light falling on metal as they played with blades really giving away their presence to the untrained eye.

But Harrian's eye was not untrained, and it didn't take him much time to evaluate the shadows as not being particularly threatening. They weren't going to attack a small, unknown group without provocation, and these weren't the people Harrian intended to provoke. _They _were upstairs.

Nobody complained as they moved towards the rickety staircase in the shadowed room, either not thinking them to be a threat, or believing that they were a threat they could handle easily. Either way, the group was effectively ignored, free to make its way to the upper level, all of them following Harrian. He seemed to know what he was doing, though this didn't encourage them too much – it took a lot for Harrian to show uncertainty, even when he didn't have a clue. This worked when bluffing an enemy, but it could lead to a bit of worrying amongst the party. Fortunately, it usually only happened when navigating, and they reasoned it would be hard even for him to get lost in this building.

There were more rogues lurking on this next level, and from their attire and general attentiveness it was quite easy to see them as guards. A few suits of chainmail were in sight, as well as blades which were more than simple daggers. The suspicious and appraising glances they threw around as Harrian pushed his way forwards towards a door at the far end of the corridor did not go unnoticed, but the group did their best to not appear unsettled by them.

At the door, a bulky man who looked a few daggers short of a weapons rack stepped in their way, giving only a grunt to show that it didn't look as if he was going to let them pass. He was a whole head taller than Harrian, and as the swashbuckler had loosened his cloak and pushed his hood back, they'd evidently been noticed and probably recognised.

Harrian looked up at the man, who was probably twice his weight and didn't look as if he'd react too well to any sort of attempt at physical intimidation. "I'm here to see Bloodscalp," the Bhaalspawn snapped, his expression and voice equally hard.

"He's not seeing people. He's very busy," the doorman replied, unyielding.

Harrian drew himself up to his full height, which still placed him over half a foot shorter than the other man, but managed to make him a bit more noticeable. With an unimpressive build, the Bhaalspawn had learnt quite well how to make the most of it, able to summon a fairly commanding presence when it suited him. "Do you know who I am?"

"I don't care," the thug sneered, shrugging.

A slow, slightly predatory smile crossed Harrian's face, and the thief folded his arms across his chest. "My name is Harrian Corias. And I need to see Renal Bloodscalp," he repeated venomously.

The thug looked uncertain. "Corias. As in the Bhaalspawn?"

"That would be me, yes," Harrian replied, ice-cool.

There was a moment as silence fell on the thieves, some waiting with bated breath for the doorman's reaction. Harrian smiled sweetly, which in itself was more disconcerting than the cold glare, and nodded encouragingly as the doorman stepped aside. "I suppose… Mr Bloodscalp… might want a word."

Harrian nodded. "Thank you," he declared smoothly, stepping forwards as the door was opened for him. He passed the thug a gold coin, just for the irritation factor as the rest of the group followed him in.

Renal Bloodscalp was not an impressive man to behold. He was even smaller than Harrian; the sort of size which made one unnoticeable. The only thing about him which made him stand out in this dark and dingy room was his attire – not too bright, but distinctive and evidently expensive. A Guildmaster could afford such things, Harrian reasoned. A Guildmaster could afford to be recognised as well.

The small man stood up, brushing his long dark hair back and smiling a cheerful smile which still held a hint of warning, of threat, which made it evident how such a visibly unimpressive man had risen so far. "Mister Corias. Apologies for Rennier back there; I simply asked to not be disturbed. I had a feeling you might be coming, however, and would be able to deal with a simple doorman."

Harrian's eyebrows lowered. "What made you think I was coming?" he asked suspiciously, darkly.

Bloodscalp shrugged. "I spoke with Tellis. He can be a very useful man. Now, why do you want to see me, _exactly_? I am not without my guesses, but pray enlighten me."

Harrian folded his arms across his chest and gave the Guildmaster a scathing look, raising an eyebrow and almost sneering. "You? Bloodscalp, you're not the one I want to talk to. You're merely a means to an end." There was a beat of silence as Bloodscalp and the rest of the group looked confused. "Let me see Linvail."


	122. Just to Add to the Confusion

****

Chapter 122: Just to Add to the Confusion

"We're very grateful you've agreed to help us with this, Sir Keldorn," Anomen declared sincerely as his group descended to the cellar of the Delryn estate – once used to keep Lord Cor's extensive wine collection, then as a workshop for Edwin, and now as the party's fairly grand armoury. Weapons they didn't sell went here, and as the party had already accumulated an impressive wealth, they were loath to sell anything that might come in handy later. The Tuigan bow was at hand in case Imoen needed a replacement for the Gesen bow; the Skullcrusher mace in case Anomen needed an alternative to the Flail of Ages; Harrian kept Peridan down there as it was unnecessary to cart two swords around, and Sarevok's old Sword of Chaos was also sitting imposingly on a weapons rack, amongst other various prizes of the party's exploits.

"It's not a problem, lad," Keldorn replied reassuringly, patting the cleric on the back as they reached the foot of the stairs. "I see you have converted this area impressively. I did not notice there was this extensive a weapons collection down in the cellar when I was watching over the estate."

"We kept it locked away," Imoen explained, putting her bow to one side on the rack to her left. "I managed to set up a few wards, and Harrian and I worked on some traps to reduce any would-be thief to dust. Nobody steals our goodies," she declared with a wicked smile.

Anomen chuckled, nodding. "Well, Keldorn, let us find you some suitable armour and a blade. Anarg may be willing to accept a thief, a berserker and a cleric who abandoned the Order, but I doubt he'll be as happy to accommodate a retired paladin," he added, moving forwards towards the armour they had collected.

Imoen nodded, following him and giving Keldorn an evaluating look. "Yep. A helmet should stop you from being instantly recognisable, but that armour's pretty distinctive. We may have to find you something new," she mused.

Anomen glanced over from where he was skimming through the armour on the racks. "The Doomplate, perhaps," he suggested quietly, thoughtfully. "It served me well for a long time. If not, there is some more simple enchanted plate we can find. Or go shopping," he said, resting a hand on the crimson-tinted metal of the Doomplate.

Keldorn nodded. "That would be… most acceptable. I am reluctant to part with my plate, but if it helps us, then it must be done," he agreed. "And of my weapon? The Hallowed Redeemer is very distinctive," he pointed out, stepping towards the rack of two-handed swords the party had accumulated.

"Ah, maybe the Sword of Chaos? Minsc used it for a bit, and it was very useful. Hey, where is Minsc?" Imoen asked, glancing around at the stairs, realising the big ranger hadn't followed them down there.

"He went to attend to Boo's bath," Anomen explained dryly. "Yes, the Sword of Chaos would be quite apt. It is a good blade," he commented, nodding as his eye ran over the rack for other possibilities.

There was a long silence as none of them spoke, broken by Keldorn's sudden inhaling as the aged paladin stepped forwards, his hilt grasping the blade by the side of the Sword of Chaos and lifting it easily from the rack. "This… do you know what this _is_?" he inquired, shocked, as he held the sword.

The other two exchanged glances, nodding. "Carsomyr. A Holy Avenger we took from the hoard of the dragon Firkraag. Shame none of us can use it," Imoen lamented, shaking her head. "A Holy Avenger might be a bit distinctive to Anarg, mind."

Keldorn fixed them both with fairly weak glares. "You… you kept this? You can't even use it! A blade like this… it should be used to fight evil, not kept on a rack for mere aesthetic purposes!" he blustered, evidently reeling a little from the sight of the sword.

"True, however the alternative was to hand it over to the Order. I wanted to, but Harrian was not particularly inclined to 'do them a favour' by giving it to them," Anomen explained ruefully. "It is a fine blade. Minsc could have done some great damage with it."

"Minsc is not a paladin," Keldorn muttered needlessly, moving Carsomyr through a few tentative sweeps.

"I'm sure Harrian would be happy to give the blade to you once this is done. As a gift. You could then give it to the Order if you pleased, or keep it for your own use," Anomen said with a hint of uncertainty and hopefulness.

Keldorn gave him a sideways glance. "Lad, a blade like this makes me want to come out of retirement. Do not tempt me," he said at last, setting the blade down. "The Sword of Chaos will do very well, and the Doomplate… though it is a bit pink." He glared at Imoen as she opened her mouth, doubtless to make some comment about the Firecam plate. "I should return home, however. I am quite sure Maria is expecting me back."

The three of them headed up the stairs back into the ground floor of the Delryn estate, Keldorn saying his farewells fairly quickly and letting himself out the house, with the agreement to meet them the next morning after breakfast to depart to the Bridge District to find the Fallen Paladins.

Imoen tossed her bow onto one of the chairs in the foyer again, visibly quite tired as she sagged onto one of the more comfortable seats. "At least that's done. The day's left me really sleepy," she yawned, stretching a little and glancing around. "Guess it's just us and Minsc here tonight, if Harrian and the others are going to stay at the Sea's Bounty like they said," she commented.

"Indeed," Anomen agreed, moving to sit down. "He did mention that they would stop by Cromwell's forge in the morning, however; see if any more of what we have collected could be of use. I think he means to forge the Equaliser. He was very determined to get the pommel gem back from Barterman."

"Ah, yes. He wants his toy to play with," Imoen chuckled. "I suppose a relaxing night is on the cards now, anyway. If the others were here, we'd have Harrian and Jaheira making sure we _all _know they're happy again, Aerie probably panicking about unpacking, Haer'Dalis feeling he _has _to entertain us all…"

"And falling flat on his face," Anomen murmured dryly, then looked a little defensive as Imoen threw him a look. "Excuse me, my lady, but that tiefling tries far too hard to ingratiate himself with certain members of the party. I do indeed wonder what you see in him," he challenged, feeling suddenly bold.

"He… he makes me laugh," Imoen said firmly, nodding, but there was a note in her voice which suggested she was trying _very_ hard to be convincing. "With Haer'Dalis, not everything has to be doom and gloom in the party. He makes me laugh. It's not easy to laugh in the party any more."

"This party was shaped by serious work, and the cavorting of that bard, merely…" Anomen's voice trailed off as he realised this was an argument which wouldn't work. He sighed deeply. "I do not trust him, my lady. He is iniquitous and… and… and… _slimy_," the cleric declared, shaking his head.

Imoen didn't reply for a long moment, staring at the floor. "Why did you agree to this quest for the Order?" she asked at last, avoiding his accusations, his challenges. "I mean, I'm happy to help, but why did you agree? What do you expect to get from helping them?"

Anomen shrugged. "It is not about what I will get – we are here to defeat evil, my lady, and the Order shares this purpose. We need not be enemies, and as they will ally with us to defeat Bodhi, we can easily help them with the problem of Anarg…" His voice trailed off again as she gave him a stern look.

Her glare softened under his sheepish expression, and she sighed. "They may let you back in, Anomen. You have the right to hope. You'd deserve it; you're a better man than most of those stuffed shirts." Imoen paused, chewing on her lower lip. "It's about time something good happened to you."

"My life is not devoid of good things. I have friends, I have my faith, I have a purpose, a quest," Anomen replied unconvincingly. There was another, shorter silence as he looked at her. "Yet… I would wish to come back. For all the purpose in the world, I still feel… empty. This is not _my _quest – I would follow Harrian to the ends of Faerûn to retrieve his soul, but the task is not my own. I merely aid another on his duty." He paused, a wry smile crossing his face. "You think I would not become a stuffed shirt like them if I returned to the Order?"

She chuckled slightly, shaking her head and smiling _the_ smile at him. "No. You're too much fun for that," Imoen replied, patting him on the arm. "You'd probably turn them around. Let them unwind. You've unwound a lot in all the time I've known you."

"These two months have seemed longer, have they not?" Anomen sighed, nodding. "I would wish to come back," he repeated. "I think there is much I could do within the Order, once our duty here is over. But I am not sure it is possible, even if they allow me to. I am not the wide-eyed squire of yesteryear. My knighthood was hollow before – I assumed that it was because I had abandoned you all to attain it. But it feels a little more as if it is because my priorities in life had changed. With the party, I was doing good directly. With the Order, there is the… bureaucracy. I once thought that necessary, but over the last few months, I have become more of a free spirit." His expression turned wry. "For which I must blame you, Harrian and… and Yoshimo."

The subject of the bounty hunter was one the party had not spoken of much. Anomen knew that Yoshimo was the one who had given the magistrates the evidence condemning his father, but it had not been discussed. Since his death at Anomen's hand, the party had hardly spoken Yoshimo's name – this had not been the time or place to deal with the scars the Kozakuran had left behind.

Imoen shrugged. "You don't need to, or have to make that decision now. And you shouldn't do what you feel you _ought _when, if, the situation pops up. Just live your life as you want to, do what you wish, live it happily," she explained firmly, her soul-lifting smile tugging at her lips again.

Anomen returned his own, slightly forced grin. "Isn't that a life which is far too chaotic? I do not want bureaucracy, but I have lived a life of strict order… perhaps too strict, yet regimentation has its place in society…" His voice trailed off again, the topic of conversation clearly fairly drained with there evidently nothing more to discuss until the issue of the Order truly arose.

"You did not answer my question," he said at last, looking down, feeling a boldness rising within him, inspired by her smile and the words she'd spoken. "About Haer'Dalis. And what you see in him. He makes you laugh, but is, as I said, truly iniquitous."

There was a pause as Imoen shifted, wilting a little as Anomen raised his head to look her in the face, those blue-green eyes of his more penetrating than their usual softness allowed. "I… I don't know why you have to ask," she stammered.

"Because I see how he acts, and I see what he does. I see that he is a man who will only use you. A man who does not have the morals to be what you need – perhaps he makes you laugh today, when you need to laugh, but is that all you will ever need?" Anomen challenged.

"How do you know who he is?" Imoen demanded accusingly, suddenly on the strong, almost _too _strong, defensive as she stood up. "You don't know him! He doesn't even _talk _to you half the time; you don't know what he's really like!" Her expression wavered for a moment between uncertainty and a forced determination as he stood up, looking down on her, taller than her by over a full head, then her face closed up with conviction. "And how do you know what I need? How do you know that what I need now isn't what I'll need tomorrow?"

"I didn't say that. I asked you whether or not it would be," Anomen replied, his voice fairly calm, but there was tension creeping in, an irritation and frustration which had been pent-up for a long time. "Perhaps I do not know him, truly, Imoen, but I doubt you do either. He is an actor, and has pulled the wool over your eyes. I do not know who could possibly be aware of his true nature, yet I sincerely doubt anyone in this party is." He paused, his expression hardening. "_Is _he what you might need tomorrow?"

She looked surprised for a moment, as if she hadn't expected the question, and gaped a little. "He's… I don't need to think about that right now. Because it's not tomorrow today," she insisted, a little too snappishly. It was all too evident they were both hitting the right nerves with each other. "Anyway, what is it to you?"

"Because I care, Imoen," Anomen replied, rolling his eyes with exasperation. "It is _not _my wish to see that dishonest tiefling use you for whatever purposes he desires and then cast you aside easily, whether you believe it or not!"

"Now you're starting to sound like Harrian," Imoen muttered with a vague amount of bitterness. "I am capable of looking after my own life! I do _have _my own life without everyone thinking they have to meddle in it all the time! Why _do _you care, anyway?" she challenged, distinctly more forcefully.

"Why, exactly, do you think?" Anomen demanded, looking her in the eye, the words spilling out and saying more than he had intended, but once they were there, he made no attempt to take them back.

Imoen stared at him for a long moment, her jaw hanging slightly open as a long silence settled upon them. "Anomen, what…?"

"Imoen, you are not stupid, and I am not subtle," he replied firmly taking a step forward as he continued to stare her in the eye. "And I can see what that bard does, and I can see that he can honestly _not _be trusted!" There was another, equally taut pause. "He may make you laugh today, but what will he do when the laughing stops?" Anomen challenged grimly.

"I don't need to think about that!" Imoen replied, a little thoughtlessly. "I only need to think about the here and now, because if I don't, things will just… implode… because if I don't focus on the here and now, the here and now will collapse," she continued, her voice trailing off as her argument became weaker, and she looked down.

Anomen frowned slightly, concerned. "Why?" he whispered firmly, lifting a finger to her chin to raise her head to look him in the eye again.

__

Because I'm a Bhaalspawn. Because my soul has been stolen. Because I feel completely empty inside. Because laughing can fill the emptiness. Because if the emptiness isn't filled, it will just consume me from within, and there'll be nothing left but a shell, or a shell of a shell. Because it started to happen to Harrian, even if he's getting out of it, and he's stronger than me; I wouldn't last that long.

Imoen swallowed hard, her expression crumpling completely into one of uncertainty. "Because I…" She stopped again, unable to continue, but knowing she had to.

Anomen took a step forwards again, bringing them even closer together, so close she could feel the warmth from his body and hear the deepening of his breath as he lifted her chin slightly again so it was level with his face as he looked down at her. "Why?" Anomen whispered again, then lowered his head and kissed her deeply, longingly.

This chased away emptiness like laughter did, and with even less desire for it to stop as her hands slid over his shoulders, responding with a fierceness and longing that mirrored his own. His hold was gentle as he wrapped his arms around her, and all memory of what she'd intended to tell, to explain, flew from her mind at the touch of his lips.

Eventually, regretfully, Anomen pulled back, looking as surprised and shocked as she felt as he looked down at her, still holding her closely to him. "I… do not know why I did that," he whispered, taking a deep breath as his grip loosened a little. "I… forgive me…"

"Don't… be sorry," Imoen mumbled, a little confused as she tried to get her breath back. "That was… it was… nice…"

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, words evidently not enough to explain anything – _was _there anything that could explain it all? – but before they could do their best to elaborate through actions again, a thumping on the staircase could be heard, and Minsc stepped in a mere second after they leapt apart.

"Ah! There you are!" the big ranger declared happily, evidently oblivious to the embarrassed glances the pair gave him. "Boo is all fluffy, Minsc is all clean, but we are both hungry, and were hoping that the party's greatest cooks could provide dinner for hungry warriors before we all depart to pick up these fallen paladins tomorrow…"


	123. Equalise

****

Chapter 123: Equalise

"Aye, lad, that's a fine blade you've got yourself there," Cromwell the dwarf declared, with a slight note of pomposity as Harrian lifted the newly-forged sword from the blacksmith's anvil, gripping the hilt firmly and staring at the slightly blue-tinted metal of the weapon with a distinct amount of awe. "A legendary weapon, that," the dwarf continued, nodding firmly. "Must be a tale and a half how you got your hands on the parts, lad?"

"About three tales," Harrian replied quietly, stepping back and moving the Equaliser through a few careful sweeps, getting a feel for the blade, sensing the power in the sword, a power beyond that of the Daystar, or of any other weapon he'd bared before. "I never dreamt… I mean, you read about swords like this in a thousand and one books; read about these weapons which are almost mythological, lost in the mists of time, and daydream about finding them, but you never really believe…"

Cromwell shrugged as the swashbuckler absent-mindedly passed over the small bag of gold on his belt, the dwarf moving back to count the coins, keeping a sharp eye on Harrian. "Laddie, from what you've said and what I've heard, it seems you've seen enough interesting things on your travels for this to be just a hiccup."

"Oh, I suppose, but… it's one thing to find a fantastic sword on an adventure, but quite… different… to find the parts of one and have it forged together. When you find it, you're painfully aware that someone had this blade before you and will have it after you once you die, probably on your own adventure. It's not _your _sword, you're merely borrowing it for the rest of your life. But to have one forged yourself, to collect the pieces from dungeons and the Underdark, sort of makes it more… more… personal… you know?" Harrian's voice trailed off, and he shook his head before setting the sword down and reaching for his belt to unbuckle the Daystar's scabbard. "What do you mean, from what you've heard, anyway?" he continued absently, placing the Equaliser's scabbard in the place of his now old-sword, slinging the gold-tinted blade over his back where Peridan had used to rest. "Where've you heard it from?"

Cromwell shrugged again as he sat down on a chair before a beaten worktable, placing the coins on the worn wooden surface. "Just around. I sometimes stop by the Five Flagons, or the Sea's Bounty. You get bards in such places. They're growing quite fond of you, you know. He who defied the Cowled Wizards, the Shadow Thieves, the Order; saved a village and braved the Underdark…"

"Yes, because I want the Shadow Thieves right now to be remembering how I defied them," Harrian murmured with a hint of a defeat in his voice. "I'm going to _kill_ that bloody tiefling," he continued irritably. "_Why _do bards _always _have to make a song and dance about every single bloody bit of excitement that comes their way?"

"Because they're bards," Cromwell replied simply and gruffly in his dwarven accent, hurrying through his counting. "It's what they do. Asking them not to would be like asking me to not forge weapons, or asking you to not slit a purse. It's their nature."

"But I don't _want _it to be," Harrian replied, a little petulantly. "It's bad enough to have Haer'Dalis running around writing a thousand and one ballads about the adventures, but to have them in the public eye? I'll never get anything done if I have bloody everyone knowing about me… it's just absolutely…"

"Yes, unreasonable, I know." There was a slightly forced note to Cromwell's sympathy as the dwarf reached the end of his counting and realised he hadn't been cheated. Not only that, he had no reason to sit here and suffer Harrian's whining anymore. "Now, don't you have a Shadowmaster to talk to?"

The swashbuckler glared at the dwarf. "How do you know that? Did the bards…"

"You told me, lad, when you came in!" Cromwell retorted incredulously. "Now, many thanks for your patronage, but move along now. I've got a lot of work tae be done, and your whining isn't going to help…"

Harrian nodded sulkily, bringing his tirade to a halt as he turned and started for the door of the forge, idly playing with the hilt of the Equaliser, chuckling to himself slightly. He should have guessed about the bards, mind. When they'd returned to the Five Flagons the other day, they'd received a few glances, some muttering had gone through crowds, but he'd rather ignored it, too jubilant that they were home.

Since they'd got back, he'd felt foolish about leaving in the first place. After finding Irenicus' journal in Bodhi's lair – what was it about these villains which meant they left useful journals around the place? – he had known the next part of the puzzle lay in the Underdark, but from closer studying, it was clear that clues had also pointed him to Suldanesselar… but was that just hindsight? They had made no giant leaps with the Underdark, truly. It had simply been another part of chasing Irenicus when he was again one step ahead, but… it seemed as if there were few steps left, and Harrian needed to just reach the last one for the final encounter. Just, on the way, he'd have to confront Shadow Thieves, Bodhi, and the elves before fighting Irenicus.

__

Irenicus… A shiver ran down Harrian's back even as he stepped out of the forge into the bright morning sun, viewing the hustle and bustle of the Docks District with a sort of detached interest. He shook his head to clear it of the shadowy images, of the memories of pain suffered in the dungeon, of pain suffered when his soul had been ripped out, leaving only this emptiness he was now desperate to fill…

There were no scars on his body. Irenicus had been meticulous in healing any damage he had done, making Harrian as good as new before breaking bones and rending flesh again. In some ways, that made it worse, the fact that the scars were _only _on the inside. He could cope with external damage. If he had a scar across his chest from the time his ribs had been broken and the flesh cut – whilst being fully conscious of the pain, though he'd passed out in that experiment, screaming in agony – then it might have been easier to deal with; the psychological pain could have been poured into that scar, or any other he'd had left, and then covered up with clothing, hidden away from everyone. With a scar inside… it was harder to cover up.

Some might have said that a physical scar would serve only as a reminder, to bring back the memories of those months of constant torture, but Harrian thought that as a useless comment – he didn't _need _a physical reminder to be able to remember that torture. It was always there, in his dreams, in his thoughts, in the emptiness where his soul had once been.

He had been walking through the streets of the Docks District now, and had he been fully aware of his surroundings he would have kicked himself for being so absent-minded. There were Shadow Thieves, enemies, on every street corner, and a thousand and one threats beyond that. So it was just as well that the only person he ran into, almost literally, was Jaheira.

"There you are!" the druid scolded the moment she set eyes on him, grabbing him by arm and yanking him out of the flow of people. "You have been gone half an hour; all you were doing was walking for a matter of minutes to collect the sword and then coming back again!" She raised an eyebrow at him. "You got distracted by the sword, didn't you…"

Harrian shrugged, managing to smile wryly as he was jerked out of his dark thoughts, pushing them to the back of his mind. "Well… yes… it's a beauty of a sword!" he replied defensively, pulling the Equaliser out for display. "A sword of balance… I trust you approve?" As she raised an eyebrow at him, his grin broadened and became more sincere. "What are _you _doing here, anyway? I didn't think you'd be looking for me…"

"I was. Perhaps it was because Haer'Dalis and Aerie have been driving me absolutely crazy and I needed to escape, but I was still looking for you," Jaheira replied dryly, giving the sword an appreciative glance before gesturing that he ought to put it away to stop drawing any more attention to them.

"What have they been doing now?" Harrian asked with a mild groan, sheathing the sword and falling into step beside her as they headed through the crowds back towards the Sea's Bounty. "I know it was a bad idea to place the two of them together…"

"From the perspective of keeping the party happy, it is the best decision," Jaheira pointed out. "Here, even the groups are balanced. Anomen will keep the other party ordered, though neither Imoen nor Keldorn should give him much trouble, and Minsc is easy to direct. As for you… if you cannot control a tiefling and a wingless Avariel, what kind of party leader _are _you?" she dug subtly, smirking a little.

"A mortal one," he groaned. "Let me guess, he's quoting poetry at her, or at least flirting outrageously, and she's just going along with it politely, but at the same time there's still something of an affect, as no mere woman can stand up to the charms and wit of the irrepressible Haer'Dalis," Harrian mused, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"And you think that the groups would be organised better if Imoen were there to see that?" Jaheira pointed out incredulously. "No, not at all… I must go and have a word with that girl at some point."

"Don't bother," Harrian replied dismissively. "With Haer'Dalis thus distracted, I think Anomen will." He glanced around the street, taking in the shadows and making 'educated' guesses at which of the figures lurking around street corners were potential threats. It was pointless, as Bloodscalp had already labelled them as not to be touched by the Shadow Thieves, and if any petty thief stepped forwards looking for trouble they'd regret it. "In the meantime, I think we have a Shadowmaster to talk to."


	124. We All Fall Down

****

Chapter 124: We All Fall Down

"I hate this," Imoen mumbled sulkily as the group strode down the streets of Athkatla, heading for the Bridge District. Their current route from the cleaner, more high-class northern side to the slums of the southern side brought them alongside the river, and so the pink-haired mage managed to distract herself by balancing on and walking along the small wall at the side of the road, uneven cobblestones on one side, the blue – well, more brown, really – waters of the river on the other. Anomen had given her nervous glances at first, but hadn't dared to pass comment. Since the night before, neither of them had spoken about the kiss, and although it loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud, they were sitting and pretending that the horizons were clear. It seemed to be working well.

Keldorn sighed the long-suffering sigh of a father who knows all too well the various moods young girls can have. "Which 'this' in particular do you refer to?" he asked tentatively, and not without a touch of irritation. As they walked, every other step he would twitch slightly, the Doomplate rubbing a little in ways he was unused to. He had worn the Firecam plate for maybe twenty years and not known any other armour; to be expected to adapt 'at his age', as he had said, was a little unreasonable. His grip on the Sword of Chaos was only slightly more solid, for though it was not the Hallowed Redeemer, a blade was a blade was a blade, and if you could kill someone with one you could kill someone with all. Or so the paladin had said when they had geared up that morning; Minsc had been sharpening the Warblade and would probably have not listened anyway; Anomen had been his usual sociable and not even slightly thoughtful, introverted and troubled self, and Imoen had consigned herself to nodding and smiling until she got neck cramp.

"_This_ 'this'!" she replied vaguely, as if it was obvious and he just wasn't paying attention. This elicited some confused glances from the other three, and with a sigh, Imoen tugged at the cloak she wore over her elven chainmail. "Harrian being too tight-fisted with the gold to buy a magic license. What with all the work we've done in the city, you'd have thought he'd have made such an… investment." She wrinkled her nose slightly.

"He doesn't want to attract the attention of the Cowled Wizards. Who knows what back doors they went through to get you from Spellhold. It might be best to just… stay away from them?" Anomen guessed, then threw her a pained sideways glance. "My lady… do you _have_ to always place yourself in such precarious positions so needlessly?" he whimpered.

"Yes," Imoen answered, a little sulkily, sticking her tongue out at him. "Without a magic license, I can't be a mage anymore! I shall have to return to my roguish roots, like back north, and back at Candlekeep." A wistful expression crossed her face for a moment before she shook her head. "So if I'm going to be a thief, then I'm going to need to hone my body. I'm all out of practice. Physical perfection is always needed for the master thief," she added, smirking at the slight shade of pink the Helmite turned as she said that. She hadn't quite realised before how easy – or fun – it was to get him to react like that. He really was quite cute when he was embarrassed. Though perhaps… this was not the time to digest such nuggets of consideration? No… there was plenty of time to think about this. Yes…

She hopped down as they approached the large archway in the walls running through the various sections of the city to allow them into the Bridge District. According to the Order and the information Anomen had been given, Anarg and his Fallen Paladins were operating down near the river, engaging in distasteful activities such as slavery and other crimes under the name and claim of righteous knights, something which evidently left the Order very miffed. Why they were so intent on avoiding bloodshed, Imoen wasn't all too sure, considering what these former paladins had supposedly done. She didn't like it, she wished it didn't happen, but in her experience, lives would only be spared in the world if it were practical for most people, and she'd seen little to suggest that paladins were really any different.

She didn't really believe that the Order were misusing them – they _were_ knights, after all, and despite what they'd done to Anomen and to Harrian, manipulation of this level didn't really seem to be their sort of thing. Anomen trusted them and Keldorn trusted them, so whatever was going on, if there was anything suspicious in this situation, she had a feeling it wasn't the Radiant Heart that were being the dodgy party.

"Down by the river, you say?" Anomen was asking Keldorn as they carried on discreetly past Lieutenant Aegisfield, whom they gave vague but polite nods. The guard had never guessed the role they had played in bringing down the Skinner murderer, but evidently wasn't complaining too loudly, with the commendations he had received after the deaths in the Bridge District had been reduced significantly as a result.

The aged paladin nodded firmly, his expression unseen behind the 'tin-can' helmet they'd shoved him in. "Sir… ah, Reynald de Chatillon owns a ship which I believe they have been launching their affairs from. The Shadow Thieves operate down at the Docks District, so a small boat can easily lurk in the Bridge District unseen," he commented darkly.

"Then that would be a good place to look," Anomen pointed out, evidently nervous as he led the party through the streets of the district. Though the bridge was not as seedy as the docks, there were still rogues and other low-lifes lurking in the area; and though it was not as mercantile as the promenade, there were still many merchants hawking their wares. The party knew the area well, passing by the Five Flagons, their old haunt before moving in to the Delryn estate, and so the path down towards the small piers off the bridge was a swift and smooth one.

"Now remember, lad," Keldorn murmured to Anomen as they descended one of the rickety staircases to the lower levels, "the Fallen are well equipped, as well-trained as any of our brethren, and outnumber us vastly. Any group would be foolish to take them on in outright combat…"

"You mean, like the group that's currently fighting them?" Imoen, a step or two ahead, asked curtly, her head cocked slightly to one side as she listened to what the less attentive in the group – i.e., all of the others – had not noticed.

Keldorn and Anomen exchanged looks as Imoen hurried ahead without waiting for their replies, Minsc by her side, pulling the giant Warblade from where it was slung over his back – its permanent place of residence when not in use.

"We should perhaps move, lad," Keldorn sighed, shifting to step after them, almost dragging a stunned Anomen along behind him. "Or that fiery lass of yours is quite liable to get herself – and us, no doubt – into some serious trouble."

"She's not…" Anomen stopped as he realised this was not the time or place, and nodded as he pulled the Flail of Ages out and picked up the pace, breaking into a jog to catch up with Minsc and Imoen, who had only just reached the scene of the fight.

By now they were on the paths by the riverside right under the bridge, and so half of the fighting was concealed in shadow. But the occasional flash of light on metal and dim shapes moving through the darkness made what was going on quite clear to see – and the party was used to combat in the half-light from the Underdark, so it did not take them long to appraise the situation. Whatever the Fallen Paladins were doing, it had irritated somebody, who had reacted quite violently.

"This is our chance," Anomen hissed to Imoen, who nodded quickly. "Saving the day… has to be a good introduction." With that, and a quick gesture to Keldorn and Minsc, he lunged forwards into the fight, the Flail of Ages whirling dangerously, ready to pummel these dark-clothed rogues attacking the Fallen Paladins. Almost automatically he had left Imoen at the back, momentarily forgetting that she would not be fighting with magic as usual, and so left her at the sidelines, free to deal with the fight as she wished.

The rogues were evidently taken aback by this interference from unknown quarters, and the Fallen confused but inspired. Chaos quickly broke out amongst the dark-clothed attackers, causing a few of their number to fall in the confusion, but retreat was evidently not an option as a large, muscular fighter locked in combat with a man Anomen recognised as Sir – no, not sir! – Reynald barked orders at his rogues, and they redoubled their efforts. Even with the group's intervention, the Fallen were still outnumbered, and hard-pressed in the fight. Reynald in particular was having trouble with this broad-shouldered and dirty-fighting leader who had him fighting close up, which a warrior battling with a claymore would find quite difficult.

Even as Anomen moved quickly through the battle, splitting skulls with the Flail of Ages, Keldorn and Minsc at his back, it was evidently unlikely that they would reach Reynald before a dagger was slipped in between the plates of his armour. But where was Anarg?

As they watched and moved, however, the shadows behind the rogues' leader shifted somehow, and Imoen inexplicably emerged, short sword upraised and moving quickly to plunge it deeply, skilfully into the leader's unprotected back.

He fell with a gurgle, Reynald visibly trying not to jump at this second unexpected intervention. The rogues, who had been hard-pressed in the fight before, lost all confidence as they saw their leader fall, and as the Fallen pushed forwards with this new victory, it did not take long for them to withdraw and scatter into the darkness.

There were a few seconds of silence as the Fallen regarded their unexpected saviours whom, amongst themselves in a handful of moments, had managed to turn the tide of the battle. Reynald in particular was fixing Imoen with a long and surprised, if mildly appreciative look… until he caught sight of Anomen.

"Delryn! What in the Nine Hells are you doing here?" he asked with even more surprise, but a distinct amount of cheer taking over the trepidation on his face. "Last I heard, you'd disappeared off the face of Amn with that murdering thief of yours!"

Anomen frowned deeply as he strode over towards Reynald, shaking his head. "If, by 'thief of mine', you mean my friend Harrian, then that is slightly correct. But it matters not, as I have returned. It reached my ears that Anarg had finally walked away from the Order. I suppose I must commend him for his… suitable action."

Paladins, by their most stereotypical nature, are not the most adept at dealing with dishonest activity. Anomen, having been rather educated by paladins – or at least Helmites, who aren't necessarily all that much better – was really not all that different, and was about as convincing in his acting as Haer'Dalis was when he was trying to be 'nice' to the cleric. Fortunately, he was dealing with those who had undergone a similar training, and were currently lacking in their paladinic 'sensors', as it was, so this was not too much of a problem.

Imoen gave him a discreet glare at his wooden acting, then managed to laugh brightly and convincingly. "Suitable? They're a waste of time, these 'noble' paladins. Just spend their time running around Amn getting outraged at everything!"

Anomen smiled slightly, Imoen's light-hearted delivery and his own small misgivings about the Order making it a little easier to find the comment amusing. "An accurate description of those blowhards, my lady," he mused wryly, then glanced back at Reynald. "After my own departure from the Halls, I thought it not necessarily a bad idea to… re-establish contact?"


	125. Dance with the Devil

****

Chapter 125: Dance with the Devil

Aran Linvail, the Shadowmaster of Amn, wrapped a towel around his waist as he emerged from the steaming pool of hot water in his private chambers, deep in the bowels of the Shadow Thieves' Headquarters. Although he'd gone to various lengths to ensure his room was hard to get to if one didn't know what they were looking for, even through several thick walls and heavy wooden doors the shouts of the young rogues and bellows of their instructors as the inexperienced were taught in the gauntlet of trials not too far away still managed to reach his ears.

Linvail's assistant, a small weasel of a man who had been a successful thief for about two weeks until he'd lost his hand on his fourth job, scurried over. "Shadowmaster, the adventurers Guildmaster Bloodscalp told you about yesterday are back, and wanting to see you," he explained respectfully, carrying a set of clean clothes in his arms as best he could for the Shadowmaster's use.

Linvail nodded, drying himself then shamelessly discarding the towel as he took the clothes from his assistant, moving a little away from the pool to dress himself. "Thank you, Pelhan," he replied easily, his hand running evaluatingly over the soft fabric of the tunic he'd been given. It would probably be best if he greeted them as fully armed and equipped as they would be. A gesture to one of the rogues by the door sent the man scampering off to collect Linvail's suit of elven chain. "I'll presume you're referring to Corias, as there is nobody else I have the patience to see."

Pelhan smirked slightly, giving a nod which was almost a bow. "Of course, Shadowmaster. Corias and his companions. I shall have them brought to you," he assured his boss, before turning and hurrying out the door.

As assistants went, Pelhan was not necessarily the most suitable. But he had a loyalty which was unquestionable, a most useful attribute in the Shadow Thieves. His disability meant that he would never become a great rogue, and he didn't have the ambition to achieve the status of Guildmaster, but he suited Linvail's needs. He was efficient and intelligent, and after many years of service was attuned enough to the Shadowmaster's needs for it to be quite disconcerting if anyone else attempted to do the job. And although Linvail had many bodyguards, Pelhan was still a dangerous enough man – even with a wooden left hand – to be a last line of defence, if needed.

Of course, if he showed any signs of betrayal, Linvail wouldn't hesitate to have him killed… but he was one of the few people he might regret eliminating.

As the Shadowmaster pulled the fine tunic over his head, the rogue he had sent out stepped back in with his elven chainmail. It was a little heavier than the leathers Linvail preferred, and less comfortable, but it gave him an impressive image, and if an attack in his own chambers took place, protection would be of the highest value. This mattered a little more over comfort.

Besides, he had other ways to indulge his fondness for luxuries, Linvail reasoned as he turned back to the pool, where two of his private concubines were still lounging. He clapped his hands together authoritatively. "You two! Out. I have business to attend to, and this isn't a guest I want you to pleasure." He rolled his eyes as they let out vague protests, but nodded indulgently. "Afterwards, yes, I'll find the time. Now off with you," he instructed.

He ignored the pair as they climbed out of the pool, collecting their discarded robes from the floor and heading for the back door in the chamber. They weren't relevant at that moment. He had more important issues to be concerned with.

Just why in the Nine Hells would Corias be coming to see him with anything other than a sword? They had not met before but most certainly knew of each other, and Linvail was quite aware of the Bhaalspawn's distaste for the Shadow Thieves. He himself was fairly neutral in regards to the man, and had treated him with only mild curiosity since Bayle's approach had been rejected two months ago.

His sources told him that one of Corias' companions, the Helmite, had gone to the paladin headquarters to ask for their assistance in… something. Just what, exactly, Linvail had been unable to find out, and this left him both annoyed and curious. It would be odd if the Bhaalspawn needed the aid of two of the most powerful factions in the city for completely different purposes – but for what single purpose could a man need an order of paladins and a guild of thieves?

"Speak of the devil," the Shadowmaster murmured as his door was opened and Pelhan stepped in obsequiously, making a grand gesture of ushering in the four adventurers behind him, Corias himself at the head. "My, my, my," Linvail continued under his breath as he sat down in a large, overstuffed armchair and eyed the new, shining sword at the Bhaalspawn's waist.

"You would be Linvail, would you not?" Corias demanded the instant the door was closed behind him, quite evidently not in a mood to beat about the bush. He'd been labelled as 'impetuous' by some of the Shadowmaster's men up north, and this sort of greeting was what he had expected.

Linvail paused for a moment, eyeing the quartet. Corias kept shifting slightly under his scrutiny, clearly wanting to be gripping his sword hilt but knowing that it was possibly not the best course of action. "That would be me," the Shadowmaster replied, his voice like silk wrapped around a dagger. "And you would be Harrian Corias, renowned Bhaalspawn and rogue. Not to mention the hero of Baldur's Gate, Nashkel, Gullykin, Trademeet…"

"Well done. You've heard of me. Considering the contacts and informants at your command, I'm surprised you can't tell me what I had for breakfast," Corias replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

Linvail smiled tightly. This might actually be amusing. "Eggs, bacon, and some bread. But the bread was stale, so you didn't eat it," he replied, without missing a beat, and gave an exaggerated yawn as Corias scowled before glancing at his companions. "And of course, the lovely Lady Jaheira, of one of the many sadly exterminated noble houses of Tethyr; esteemed Harper and technically your guardian, Mr Corias, but… let's not go there." The smile turned into a smirk as he glanced onwards. "Haer'Dalis, master of the arts from across the planes, former member of the Sigil troupe of Raelis Shae. I've heard some of your work before, especially your ballads regarding Mr Corias here. Some impressive work."

Corias scowled again as Haer'Dalis smirked and bowed theatrically, but Linvail ignored them both as his eyes continued to move, settling on the last member of the group. "As for you… I know your name, Miss Aerie, and I know you to be Avariel, but apart from some unfortunate encounters with slavers, I fear I have very little of your past to toss around," the Shadowmaster commented casually, trying not to frown.

The elf's eyes narrowed, and her chin tilted a little defiantly. "Good."

Once more, Linvail ignored Corias' party members as his eyes settled on the leader once more. "I would ask what has happened to your childhood companion, your Rashemani berserker and that Helmite of yours, but they have been spotted down in the Bridge District this morning, so do not trouble yourself."

Corias frowned, looking confused. "What in the hells are they doing in the Bridge District?" he mumbled, more to himself than to Linvail, but the Shadowmaster overheard anyway. There was a pause, then the Bhaalspawn rose his head. "I'll assume you know why we're here," he continued.

Linvail shook his head, curiosity overcoming the slight shame of that fact. "I fear not. I know that you have recently emerged from disappearing to the Underdark. I know that you cast a mage out of your services who had been very useful to the Shadow Thieves in the past. And I know that you have requested the assistance of the paladins in the northern side of the city. But I cannot fathom what you expect the Shadow Thieves and the Radiant Heart to work together on."

"The destruction of Bodhi's cult of vampires?" Corias asked victoriously, playing his trump card with a smirk of superiority which actually annoyed Linvail more than anything else.

The Shadowmaster raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Why would you wish to do that? If it's vengeance, you certainly take your time. A dish best served cold, I know, but by now it has practically congealed…"

"That is not your concern," Corias snapped, his expression closing up. 

Linvail rolled his eyes. "Things have changed since a year ago; you are no longer the inconsequential player you were before, and neglecting to kill you would not create a very dangerous enemy for the expanding Shadow Thieves. You want to have Bodhi's guild destroyed; so do we. We can see eye to eye on this, as long as your paladins don't turn on us once the deed is done." A sneer crossed his face. "We wouldn't want to destroy the market for armour polish, after all."

The corner of Corias' mouth twitched; Linvail didn't know if it was with irritation or mirth. The Bhaalspawn paused for a moment, then straightened up. "She has something we want. Something you could make no use of anyway. And vengeance is always worth revisiting, don't you feel?"

Linvail considered this for a moment as he stood up. "Indeed. I think I have many of my thieves I would like to see avenged. That vampire has much to pay for." He stretched slightly, his chainmail tinkling a little. "I can supply stakes, holy water, and a dozen of my best rogues. Your paladins can do the wanton destruction, but there is more than one way to skin a cat. I think you'll find my men can help you."

Corias paused, visibly considering this. "How long will you need to assemble your men? The Order asked for several days, so you have at least that."

"No more than five nights," Linvail assured him. "And then, it is about time we redressed the balance in this city. At least we Shadow Thieves do not drink the bloody of those we rob," he pointed out, extending his hand towards Corias.

The Bhaalspawn hesitated, then shook it firmly. "You're a means to an end, Linvail. Don't think that this makes an alliance of any permanent sort between the two of us."

"I wouldn't know about that, Corias," the Shadowmaster replied cheerfully. "You're a resourceful man. You could go far." He shrugged. "Evidently, you have your own problems to deal with, but if you ever find yourself in need of work, then someone of your skills might be needed." He pause for a moment, a smirk hovering on his lips again. "Besides, you've increased in power since our last clash. It would be more trouble than it is worth to have you killed… as long as you present no outright threat, that is," Linvail continued, his words laced with warning.

"As long as you do not threaten me or my friends, then I will leave you to your own devices," Corias told him bluntly. "I would not have come here if I had the choice. But there are times when pride must be swallowed, and if a solution to a problem presents itself when the only barriers are my own misgivings, then that solution should be pursued. Bodhi will be dead by the end of the week."


	126. Den of Hypocrisy

****

Chapter 126: Den of Hypocrisy

Reynald de Chatillon stood at the prow of the small boat the Fallen Paladins were using to ferry themselves from the dock to Anarg's ship, his back to the rowers and their passengers, eyes scanning the horizon. The Athkatlan guard _did _keep a few ships out around the shoreline to keep an eye on goings-on, but the ship was anchored legally. They had no problems with the laws – their reason for hiding was keeping out of sight of the Shadow Thieves. The Bridge District was one of the freer areas of Athkatla, hence their encounter with some of the other gangs in the area.

__

We should not be doing this… not huddling under the feet of the Guildmasters like dogs, hounded by the Order. We may not meet their **standards**, may not share their doe-eyed views of life, but we are still men of honour. Reynald's gauntleted hand clenched into a fist as his gaze dropped to watch the murky waters below them. "Torm, we are, I swear it," he whispered inaudibly, his heart stretching out, seeking, searching for the fire of divine protection that had warmed his soul before… and found nothing but an aching, empty coldness. Again.

__

To the **Hells **with you! his mind cursed, lashing out suddenly and against his will, the emptiness filled with anger for a moment. It was always like that when he searched for his God again and found nothing. Resentment at Torm turning his back on him, anger at the Order for rejecting him, and disappointment with himself for failing them both.

__

Torm… what I did was wrong, so very wrong, but I know that I could not, **would **not have taken another course. Is that what makes you keep your back turned? Again, silence. It was what he had come to expect. It was what he was used to.

"That's quite a boat," a quiet voice cut into his reverie, and he was aware of one of Delryn's companions stepping up beside him – the small girl, with the disconcertingly bright pink hair, chirpy smile and extreme competence at killing.

"A _ship_," Reynald replied tersely, but there was a slight, sad smirk on his face. "I would not call it a boat in front of Anarg. He gets irritated by such things." He sighed deeply, morosely. "He should have been a sailor instead of a paladin."

"What happened to him?" Imoen asked. "What happened to you all?"

He looked over at her. She was frowning slightly, glancing back at her companions and the rest of the knights who were coming back to the ship. "We don't…" Reynald stopped, shaking his head. "I can't speak for everyone. Not everyone likes to talk about it. Myself… it is a long story. One best left to history."

"Many of us have such tales," Anomen interjected from where he was seated further back in the boat. He gave Imoen a glance, and the mage withdrew to also sit down. "We do not always see eye to eye with our patrons. They can ask us to go against our hearts." He fixed Reynald with a look.

The former paladin's throat tightened. _Torm, he **knows**!_ It was not inconceivable, though, he supposed. Anomen may have left the Order before Anarg had split them, but the Helmite had done so on distinctly better terms than the Fallen Paladins. Indeed, he had not been a paladin in the first place, only a knight; and even then he had not been dishonoured or forced to leave. He had departed voluntarily, keeping Helm's favour.

"Anarg will be happy to see you," Reynald replied simply. "More numbers are always welcome, even if some of you are not…" He paused, searching for the correct word as he uncomfortably eyed Anomen's companions. "Like us," he finished haplessly, shrugging.

The large bald man who had been tending to his hamster looked up a little indignantly. "Like you? Boo thinks that we are like you. We fight, we kick the buttocks of evil, and we do not care who judges us for how we do it! You do not need to pray each night for your powers or follow the advice of someone who has not been butt-kicking for many years to be a force of righteousness!" he declared brightly.

Reynald looked at the man – Minsc, his name was? – for a moment, a slow smile creeping over his face… then it trailed off with confusion. "Who's Boo?"

"Boo! Boo is the miniature giant space hamster, and my very wise companion for many years now. Say hello to the nice knight, Boo," Minsc exclaimed, standing up and extending a massive hand towards Reynald. In the middle of it, nibbling on a biscuit, was a golden-and-white hamster, who fixed him with dark beady eyes and squeaked quietly.

"Minsc?"

The tall and broad-shouldered man in crimson-tinted armour who kept his face hidden and his helmet on – Anomen had stumbled over his name; Rondlek, it was – spoke for the first time, gesturing to the large Rashemani to be quiet and sit down again.

Anomen glanced up at the ship as their smaller boat drew up alongside it; his eye scanned the hull evaluatingly, settling on the name painted on the prow – two simple words, one of them worn and beaten, the other one shiny and new, on wood which had evidently had been scraped away at lately. "The _Divine Thunder_…" he read quietly.

"It used to be called _Tyr's Thunder_," Reynald replied, his voice just as low. "Anarg renamed it."

"Her!" a voice exclaimed from above them, on board the ship, and as the boat came to a stop and a rope ladder was thrown down to them, they looked up to see an armoured figure leaning over the side of the deck. "You don't call a ship 'it', you call a ship 'her'. And she's a beauty."

Reynald sighed deeply. "Yes, Anarg," he declared in the voice of one who has suffered much, then turned and did his best to climb the rope ladder – not an easy feat when one is wearing full plate.

Anarg, former paladin of Tyr and former knight of the Order of the Radiant Heart did not seem to be what the party had expected, judging from their expressions. Reynald shrugged as he began to take off his armour, placing it easily on the deck – he was sore and weary from the fight, and the heat of Athkatla was getting annoying. People listened too much to stories; they expected Fallen Paladins to be ugly brutes, forsaken by their gods and turned twisted outside as well as inside.

Anarg wasn't quite like that. He wore his dark hair longer than it had been when he was in the Order, and although his eyes were dark and sunken, they were set in a finely-chiselled face with delicate features that denoted his noble upbringing.

"What do we have here, Reynald?" the leader of the Fallen Paladins asked imperiously, raising an eyebrow as the four adventurers clambered up – again, a difficult task with three of them in plate mail. There was a pause as his eyes settled on Anomen. "Lord Delryn. I'm most pleased to see you here; I'd rather hoped you might show yourself."

"I have had other matters to attend to first, Anarg," Anomen replied easily, evaluating the ship with the cool look of someone who wants to appear knowledgeable but clearly has no sea-legs. "But when I heard of your forming yourselves away from those meddlesome paladins… well, I had no choice but to seek you out, did I?"

Anarg smiled a bright and sparkling smile. "Well, you had a choice. You don't have the Order hating you; you were smart enough to walk away, whereas we…" His voice trailed off, and he gestured to the Fallen Paladins in the vicinity. "…were ejected. Their hypocrisy, their self-righteousness blinded them. They cannot see beyond their own noses."

Anomen snorted and nodded. "What they cannot understand, they fear. Believe me, I know all of this. I was condemned for being in the company of a man who had done nothing wrong, purely because of who he was. It does not sound like righteous behaviour to me."

"You understand." Anarg nodded slowly. "And even now, even when we are out of their reach, they do their best to temper us, to keep us in line and stop us from living our lives as if we were still of their number! It is unacceptable. Either we are their comrades, their brothers, are held in the same esteem as they are, or we are out of their control fully. They cannot have it halfway."

Imoen shrugged. "Well, with rumours going around that you're running slaves and other sorts of crime rackets, I'm not too surprised." There was a pause as the eyes of the Fallen Paladins settled upon her, and she gave an impish smile. "They're the persistent do-gooders."

Anarg snorted. "Aye, and that's the truth of the matter. What they do no understand…" His voice trailed off, and he glanced at the four adventurers evaluatingly, his gaze settling for a moment on the fully armoured 'Rondlek'. "No matter. We are free of them now; free to do our own things. Anomen, you have been free for a while. Now it seems that you are done with whatever gallivanting around to took part in with the Bhaalspawn, are you here to join us in our efforts?"

Anomen paused for a moment, folding his arms across his chest and looking a little hesitant. "What efforts?"

"We are forging our own path in the world, going a new way. We are still men of honour, even if we do not meet the Order's unrealistic and hypocritical standards now. As brothers, we can find our place in the world."

There was another second's hesitation from the Helmite. "I have found my new place in the world," he said at length, then paused once more. Eventually, his face lit up, and he smiled brightly. "But there is always time to help others find their place out of that den of hypocrisy."


	127. Separate Paths

****

Chapter 127: Separate Paths

"Are you _sure _you were acting?" Keldorn asked for the fiftieth time as Anomen's group entered the Delryn estate, returning from the day's activities. "Your behaviour was convincing. Do not be blinded by their lies, Anomen… Whilst I am sure that they truly believe what they are saying is true, there is much of the story you do not understand."

"I think I understand well enough, Keldorn," Anomen retorted, though it was unclear whether his sharpness was out of conflicting views or a mere defensiveness. "I have seen the hypocrisy of the Order that they speak of. You have seen it too – are you entirely sure that these men have committed true wrongs?"

"Think of it, Anomen," Keldorn replied, sighing. "Reynald, Anarg, all of them… they have been forsaken by their Gods. You still have Helm's favour. Surely that explains a difference in circumstances between you?" He paused as Anomen hesitated in the antechamber, slowly settling his flail down on the lounge chair. "Anarg is a murderer, Anomen. Reynald too, though his story is distinctly more complicated. These Fallen Paladins are not exiles by the Order's decree – they are exiles by the decree of their Gods. That is what makes a difference."

Imoen nodded slowly. "He's right. You noticed there was no denial of the accusations of slavery."

Anomen fixed her with a look. "That in itself is not an acknowledgement of guilt," he replied tersely, rolling his eyes.

"No, but they do have their crimes to their name," Keldorn sighed, shaking his head as he creakily sat down in an overstuffed armchair. "I could detect it, feel it. There is a hint of evil surrounding them that was _not _there when they were still paladins, when Torm, Tyr, Helm, Ilmater… whoever their God is still gave them powers."

"I did not notice you casting a Detect Evil," Anomen answered, a little sulkily.

"Torm know that there are times for discretion," Keldorn explained simply. "It is not always loud chanting, flashing lights and dramatic waving of arms. A quiet request for his wisdom can do as much good also."

Anomen glanced over at him. "What did you get?" he asked at last, quietly, reluctantly.

"Just images, as always. Memories, flashes of emotion, pictures in the mind. They do have slaves. In the _Thunder_'s hold." There was a pause as Keldorn took the helmet off his head and began to unbuckle the Doomplate. "There was more, as well… less tangible things. Do not heed my divining as the word of Helm, my lad, but do not ignore it either. Not all of these men are gone forever. Some, like Anarg, hold no remorse, as far as I can tell. And if he is indeed taking part in slaving, redemption would be a long way off. But I do not believe Reynald is a lost cause; and there are others, like the oarsman sitting next to you, Minsc, or the man doing… whatever it is they do to the sails… men who are not beyond the reach of others, beyond the reaches of their Gods."

Anomen nodded at last, stepping over to the window, arms folded over his chest. "What does the Order want us to do with them? They said to avoid bloodshed, but if they _are _taking part in these crimes, and if they cannot be redeemed, we can hardly leave them to their own devices. Perhaps this is a matter best left to the courts."

"Anarg's a rich noble, Fallen or not. This is Amn," Imoen stated simply, pacing in the doorway.

"Would the Order take them back? If they wanted redemption? Would Wessalen –"

"_Prelate _Wessalen, Anomen…"

"_Prelate _Wessalen accept them back? And Sir Donalus, and the other high knights? Anarg was an important member of the Order. Reynald was one of the finest leader of knights in the Order's history – in the campaigns in Tethyr his groups were unrivalled in their efficiency. These are men who were valuable to the Order's well-being!" Anomen exclaimed, sighing.

"Were," Imoen commented. It seemed evident that she knew she could have little input in the precise politics of the situation, but she clearly had half a clue of what was going on. "I don't think past loyalties alone will get them back, if they've committed the crimes Keldorn thinks they have. And what are they doing all together on that boat fighting _street gangs _if it's not something shady? What are they doing lurking in the Bridge District if it's not something that would annoy the Shadow Thieves? They may have been knights, but some of them are probably no better than the most common thugs."

"You don't know that!" Anomen exclaimed at last reluctantly. "They might be… they might…" He paused, then shook his head and sighed deeply again. "Very well. We shall see; see with our own eyes what crimes they commit, what slaving they do. Then I will decide what is to be done with them."

"Done with who?"

The four of them whirled around to see a triumphant-looking Harrian swagger into the estate, a tired Jaheira, a flamboyant Haer'Dalis and cheerful Aerie behind him. It seemed as if the other half of the party was enjoying a certain success.

"The Fallen Paladins," Anomen replied vaguely, hardly paying too much attention to their arrival. He glanced over, then explained briefly what had happened – including their success at soliciting the Order's help – whilst missing out their little debates and arguments in between. "It's all in hand," he finished quietly.

"Why are you helping the Order?" a confused Harrian asked, frowning.

"Because they requested our assistance; because they are lending swords to our cause and all they have asked us to do is to try and stop a group of potentially very dangerous men from running around and creating more havoc in the city," Anomen elaborated slowly, his voice worn down with fatigue.

Keldorn nodded. "He's right. Fallen Paladins, if left to their own devices – especially in a large group such as this one – can turn to some exceedingly iniquitous activities which would make the Shadow Thieves look like minor thugs in the street. Whilst the threat presented by Bodhi _is _more important, as it will take time for the Order to gather their troops anyway, I see no problems with devoting effort to them." There was a pause, and the retired paladin glanced down. "Though it is your party, of course."

Harrian sighed, glancing over at Anomen. The cleric had started to pace a little, and had that tortured expression on his face which adorned it so often. "Alright. Ships, you say? I hate boats. Let's take a look at them."

Anomen and Imoen exchanged glances, then looked at him. "You don't need to necessarily get involved yourself," Anomen started falteringly, shifting uncomfortably. "It's something I… ah, we, can handle very easily on our own."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "But should not, for something requiring the party's efforts, the party leader be involved in the endeavour?" she pointed out dryly, a hint of suspicion lurking at the edge of her words.

"Well, you don't need to either!" Imoen interjected with certainty. "In fact, you two… deserve time off. Yes. The six of us can handle it," she continued, practically dragging Keldorn to his feet and ushering the others out of the lounge.

"You can?" Harrian asked as they hurried out of the room, closing the door behind them and leaving he and Jaheira behind, alone and very bewildered. He turned to her, confused. "They can?" There was a pause as he looked increasingly suspicious with the entire situation that had presented itself to them in a manner of mere seconds. "Do you get the impression that they're trying to get rid of us?"

"I get the impression that they either want to do something without our meddling, or think they know what's best for us," Jaheira replied dryly, glancing at the still-closed door. "But I think they are capable of handling a few insane paladins by themselves." She paused, glancing at him with a hint of amusement. "Do you feel superfluous now?"

Harrian smirked a little, nodding. "I can live with that. Time off's never a bad thing."

Outside, a similarly confused Aerie glanced at the four who had been on the little expedition to the Fallen Paladins. "So… what exactly are we trying to do? Help the Order by doing _what_?"

"Redeeming some Fallen Paladins," Anomen declared, just as the same time as Keldorn said, "Bringing some Fallen Paladins to justice."

There was a pause as the two men looked at each other, and Haer'Dalis began to chuckle here. "Methinks that yon hound is a little torn in his loyalties here," he observed dryly. "To aid those he feels linked to, or to condemn them for the favour of those he has already walked away from?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Haer'Dalis," Imoen replied tautly.

"So what did you do?" Aerie asked at last. "Did you tell them that you'd be joining them and then infiltrate them, or…? What exactly _is _our plan?"

"I'm… ah, we're getting to that," Anomen confessed uncomfortably, throwing Haer'Dalis an evil glance. "But no matter what, I feel it is quite evident that there is something that is more than it initially seems. I doubt the situation can be labelled and judged in a manner of seconds."


	128. Scent of Burning

****

Chapter 128: Scent of Burning

Imoen stirred absently at the pot in the kitchen of the Delryn estate, hardly paying attention to her cooking even as she prepared the meal for the party. Whilst Anomen had gone to certain lengths to get them various servants to help maintain the house, the cook had been dismissed whilst they were in the Underdark. As, with luck, they would not be staying in Athkatla for very long – no more than another tenday at worst – it was not necessary to spend _more _money on the estate. All it meant was that the party would have to cook their own food, something neither Anomen nor Imoen – as the only competent cooks in the party and the only people Anomen would trust in the kitchen – minded particularly. It was an easy chore compared to the maintaining of weapons and armour which the others were taking care of, and was something which kept her focused.

Well, it kept her focused if she was paying attention to it, which meant that her mind was elsewhere as a stew began to boil away a little bit _too _much. It was only the spattering of meaty juice on her hand which jerked her out of her reverie with a splash and a yelp.

A head poked around the door at her cry, and Anomen gave her a quizzical look. "My lady? Are you cooking, or destroying the meal?" he asked wryly, frowning slightly at the betrayed glare she was giving the large pot over the fire.

She shifted her glower towards him, unable to keep it up without smirking. "I'm fine! Really," she declared unconvincingly. "It's just the pot… not used to using it anymore," Imoen insisted.

Anomen raised an eyebrow as he stepped inside. "We've been back for several days, and you have cooked each meal each night without trouble," he pointed out, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall.

"Yes… well… it's… I…. shut up!" Imoen retorted at last weakly, making a point of not looking as she added some unidentifiable herbs to the now merrily boiling pot.

"Very well," Anomen replied slowly. There was a long pause as he stared at his feet, evidently searching for something to say. "How did you learn to cook?" he asked at last, and as it clearly wasn't what he had originally wanted to say, Imoen sighed with relief.

"Hey, I grew up in a library fortress with the best inn north of the Five Flagons, and my foster father was the innkeeper. If you're a prankster in an inn, you're going to be set to prepare dinner enough times," Imoen exclaimed, shaking her head and chuckling.

He nodded slowly. "I thought Gorion was your foster father?"

She shrugged. "Not… not really. I was really closer to Winthrop. Harrian was the one who treated Gorion like a father. For me, he was more of a… a favourite uncle, or something." Imoen glanced at him at last, though now it was his turn to avert her gaze. "What about you? How'd you learn to cook? I figured guys like you would spend their time learning swordsmanship, and all of that, not cooking."

Anomen chuckled quietly. "I did learn that. But not just that. My mother insisted that, from a young age, my sister and I be capable in a variety of skills. My father disapproved, as Cor does… did…" His voice trailed off, and shook his head. "By the time I joined the Order, on the campaigns I was the only one of the squires who knew the right end of a spoon to cook with, so I would always get delegated to prepare meals instead of having to sit watch at night. I am no master chef, as you have seen, but I cope in the field."

"We all do. Well, most of us do. Don't trust Harrian with anything more complicated to make than toast on a fire – and even then he'll probably set the bread alight. He's probably apt to hurt himself or ruin a meal even when he's just eating it!" Imoen exclaimed, grinning and shaking her head.

He chuckled dryly again. "So I've noticed."

Silence fell again, filled only by Imoen doing her best to pay her full attention to the meal, but there was an underlying tension it was clear that they could both feel, accentuated even more by Anomen's uncomfortable shifting.

"My lady…" It was clear that it was going to be something fairly important that he had to say, with that sort of formal beginning, "I would like to… to apologise for my behaviour… for my actions… last night. It was completely… unsuitable, and… improper."

Imoen froze, her back to him as she stirred the spoon, and closed her eyes, an out of sight grimace crossing her face. "Don't worry about it, Anomen," she replied as easily as she could manage – thus the words came out a little strangled. "You don't need to be concerned about it, or dwell on it… or think about it."

She could practically hear him stiffen. "I do not need to… think about it?" he repeated slowly, frowning at her as she turned around slowly. "So perhaps it would be best that I simply… forgot about the entire event?" There was a warning note in his voice as he spoke.

"I thought you said that you were sorry that it happened?" Imoen challenged weakly.

"Not _that_ sorry," Anomen mumbled defiantly. "Not so sorry that it is something I wish to take back. Sorry that it happened in such circumstances, sorry that I was so forward, but not sorry that it happened." He paused, giving her an inquisitive look. "However, if _you _are sorry that it happened… if you would rather that I forgot, that we forgot, and simply dismissed it to the depths of time, then…" His voice trailed off, not really needing to finish the sentence.

Imoen made a face. It would be easier, so much easier, to pretend that this had never taken place… wouldn't it? The emotions would still be there, and Anomen would still be there, taut and brooding and watching her.

"I… no. I don't know," she stammered, looking away. "There's a lot to think about now, Anomen. Irenicus is lurking on the horizon, we're going to be going into battle against Bodhi, a powerful vampire, and there are the Fallen Paladins to deal with, not to mention the fact that…" Her voice trailed off. No, now really was _not _the time to throw in the wild card of her heritage into the mix. Once things were a little more stable, and she knew what was going on… maybe then.

__

Though it may have to be fairly soon. I doubt you can really reclaim your soul without him noticing something like that.

"So you wish for me to be… discreet. Give you time and space." Anomen looked as if this was something that would take a little effort to cope with, but he nodded slowly. "Very well. I am at your side in battle if it is needed, by your side if you call for me, and yours if you say the word, my lady. But only if you wish it to be so," he declared solemnly, drawing himself to his full height and looking at her.

__

See, this is the difference between him and Haer'Dalis. When Haer'Dalis says it, it's fun and I can laugh at it, because… because it's just words. Anomen… Gods, when you say this, I think you actually mean it. This really rather worried Imoen in ways she wasn't too sure she could grasp right then. "I… thank you. I won't… I'll be thinking always…" She stopped, and recomposed herself. "I'll try to get my thinking done sometime, try to not make you wait too long…"

"I shall wait for as long as is needed," Anomen replied, his face closing up a little as he stepped forwards. "Now, perhaps I should take care of the meal, as I fear that at your hands it will become inedible?"

Imoen glanced at the pot, which was now bubbling a little over-enthusiastically, and nodded slowly. "Perhaps… yes. I can find other things to do," she conceded, stepping away as he stepped forward and grabbed a ladle. There was a moment of silence as she watched him, then frowned. "Where's Haer'Dalis?" she asked at last, not really thinking about the question until it came out, and mentally kicking herself as he looked at her stiffly. "I… there are some spells we need to go over," she stammered unconvincingly.

Anomen shrugged the shrug of those who know the answer but wish they didn't and really don't give a damn. "He is upstairs, I believe." A beat of silence. "With Aerie."

__

Touché, you sneaky little… Imoen nodded as emotionlessly as she could manage before turning and leaving, wishing that the churn of confusing and conflicting emotions would rather go away… jealousy at the news that Haer'Dalis was spending time with Aerie, again… a desire to just run in and tell Anomen that she didn't need to wait at all… both were completely ridiculous and unthinkable. But it was evident that she had a lot to consider.


	129. Enter Haer'Dalis!

****

Chapter 129: Enter Haer'Dalis!

Haer'Dalis was finding all of these goings on amazingly entertaining. Here they were, on an epic quest of grand dramatic proportions. Their leader seemed to epitomise the tragic hero, from the hamartia through to the inevitable, in Haer'Dalis' opinion, downfall which would eventually come due to that flaw. The party was split with its trials and its emotions, clashing even as they embarked on the same endeavour at this tragic leader's side. Several battles were ahead, all of them with high stakes and scores to be settled. Before then they had a wonderful duty of justice or redemption to be dealt with, and to top it all, had was having an immense amount of fun in the hunt for thespian talent, which he had been fortunate enough to find right there, in their own party.

The abandoned servants' quarters in the Delryn estate had been rearranged, beds and chests pushed to the side to leave a large open space to act as a makeshift stage. Acoustics were poor, there was no audience – nor would there ever be one in this room – but it served a purpose most wonderfully.

At that moment, he was merely perched on a table in one of the shadowy corners, flicking through the book on his lap, relaxing easily, alternating between reading the volume before him and admiring the sun falling through the tinted windows and making dazzling patterns on the polished wooden floor in the centre of the room. Small this room might have been, it suited his artistic musing…

…musing he was broken out of as the door to the room was pushed open hesitantly, and a golden-locked head poked around the corner tentatively. "Haer'Dalis? What… what _are _you doing up here?" Aerie asked, stepping in as she spotted him in the corner.

The tiefling looked up, smiling absently for a moment until his entire expression changed, lighting up as if someone had turned a cog inside and it had switched his mood entirely. He leapt to his feet dramatically and swept around her as she stepped to the centre of the room, gripping her hands quickly and suddenly with a roguish grin.

"You have come to me, my goddess!" he exclaimed dramatically, eyes wide, voice full of shock and delight all at once. "I have prayed for my love not to be denied, and my majestic queen appears before me!"

There was a pause as Aerie blinked, then realisation dawned a little, and she nodded. "Aye… Tersis has come to you, my Donner," she started, less dramatic or as convincing as he, a slight frown on her face as she replied. "Your yearning has called to me across the void, and against all sober advice, I have come."

"Then let me sing your praises while I can, my Queen!" Haer'Dalis continued, his voice lowering to become less melodramatic; calmer and more serious, sincere. "Let me… let me tell you how I adore your flaxen hair, your porcelain skin…" the tiefling added, stepping forwards as he raised a hand to her cheek gently. "Let me tell you how I long to brush my hand across your pale cheek…"

There was a pause as Aerie, flustered, looked down and hurried through the pockets of her robes quickly, pulling away a little until she emerged with a rolled-up scroll and scanned through it quickly. "Ah… Haer'Dalis…?"

He took the parchment out of her hand and threw it across the room, taking her by the wrists again. "Your breathtaking beauty has captured my heart and I long to cradle your innocence in my arms for the breadth of eternity…" he continued, hesitating for a split second before he continued his speech, his voice still low, quiet and sincere.

"Haer'Dalis? Your words aren't in the play," Aerie told him, not pulling away from his grasp yet not taking his hands either.

"Forget the play, my mourning dove… I speak what is in my heart!" Haer'Dalis replied simply, shaking his head and raising one of her hands to his lips. "My words come unbidden to my lips, for you have captured my soul in your innocent hands. I am yours, my sweet Aerie. Can you not see that?" he asked, a look of surprise and slight anxiousness crossing his face as he pulled back a little to regard her, awe creeping into his expression. "You blossom like a flower before me and I am entranced, swept away and caught in your fragile web all at once…"

Aerie stared at him for a long moment. "I thank you for your words, Haer'Dalis, but really…" Her voice trailed off, and her eyes fixed on a point across his shoulder as she pulled her hands away. "Ah… Haer'Dalis?"

He ignored her. "Do you not feel some spark, yourself, my dove?" the bard continued, unabashed. "Does your heart not quicken in my presence as mine does in yours? I prithee, do not crush my fragile plea!"

A throat cleared behind him, back where the door was, and Haer'Dalis came to a halt, a slight frown of vexation adorning his forehead as he paused. There was a long moment of silence, then the tiefling turned around, his head cocked slightly to one side as he spotted Imoen lounging in the doorway. "My wildflower!" he exclaimed without even the slightest trace of nervousness or embarrassment. "Are you in the habit of interrupting thespians at work in their rehearsals?"

Imoen raised an eyebrow at him, scratching the back of her neck and assuming a very convincing dubious – and above all, _casual – _expression which contradicted the tightening of her throat. "Rehearsals, hey? How come you never asked me to join in on them?" Her voice was light, her expression unconcerned, and Haer'Dalis' worry increased a little. 

Aerie also paused, sensibly noticing more than a little of the subtext flying around. "He has a tendency to drag me into these encounters," she sighed, for some reason feeling as if she should apologise. "I had only come up here to discuss spell components."

"We've got plenty down in the cellar," Imoen replied easily, not taking her eyes off Haer'Dalis. "Might not be a bad idea if we took a look at them after dinner; definitely good thinking, Aerie."

The Avariel nodded a little uncomfortably. "I… I'll go, then," she stammered, stepping forwards and hurrying past Imoen.

There was a long pause as the pink-haired mage stepped into the room – Anomen, for the first time in many hours suddenly no longer plaguing her thoughts – and closed the door firmly behind her. "So… rehearsals, hey?"

Haer'Dalis nodded. "The dove has a certain amount of thespian talent, indeed. We have been looking over the play _'Tersis'_; it compliments her skills quite adequately, my wildflower," he assured her brightly and without even the slightest hint of concern.

Imoen considered this for a moment as she stepped over to where Aerie's script lay abandoned on the floor. She picked it up and flicked through the open section quickly, one eyebrow raising as she took in the lines. "Huh. Really? Because I don't see the bit you were rehearsing in this script," she commented, again in that far-too-casual tone of voice.

"We were… improvising. A play always benefits from a certain amount of creative license from a skilled cast," Haer'Dalis replied as he himself did a fair amount of improvisation. "Only with the great actors, of course…"

There was a pause as Imoen raised the other eyebrow. "Then I'd suggest that such improvisation is not for you, my bard. I would not think that a 'great actor' would slip out of character to make a shocking blunder like referring to Tersis as 'my dove'; it might get fairly confusing on the stage."

"Aye… perhaps it would…" Haer'Dalis mumbled, actually defeated for a moment. "I shall take that under advisement, my wildflower…"

Imoen shook her head, backing off and opening the door. "Really, Haer'Dalis… don't call me your _anything_ anymore," she replied coldly. "Or if you must, stick with the hound, or a bird, or something generic which you call everyone," she continued, whirling around, ready to step out.

"Shall I call you a raven as I call your brother?" the tiefling called out, stopping her in her tracks and prompting her to close the door very quickly and secretively. There was a pause as she stepped away, still with her back to him, and Haer'Dalis stepped up slowly. "My… Imoen… I know what you are thinking. But it is not like that. Aerie, she… she has an impressive amount of acting talent; some of the greatest I have seen. But she is still a scared child in many ways, and that talent needs to be coaxed out of her. I have tried encouragement, I have tried intimidation, I have tried even something of bribery, but it seems as if the teacher that works the most magic with her is the one who is close."

"How very sporting of you, Haer'Dalis," Imoen mumbled, shaking her head as she rested a hand against the doorframe, still not looking at him.

He sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets and rolling his eyes skywards, suddenly looking defeated and abashed. "I… my wildflower, please hear me. I do not wish to hurt you. I wish to help you however I can. I know that you are lost, and alone, and wounded as it is. I know that there are not many you can turn to, not many you can trust." Out of sight, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but was submerged quickly. "Harrian has his own concerns, Jaheira is concerned with him, Anomen… Anomen would not understand in the least if you were to unburden your heart onto him." He reached out to tentatively place a hand on his shoulder. "I understand… I can fathom the darkness within you, and you know that this sparrow is here to help you on your cause."

Imoen stepped away, shrugging off his hand but still turning to face him. "I just… I feel…" her voice, a voice full of confusion, emptiness and loss, trailed off weakly.

"Alone?" Haer'Dalis asked, moving closer. "My wildflower, if you just trust me, then I can be there for you in your loneliness. Reach out, and I am here for you. I will not judge you, I will not question you. Perhaps I… perhaps I cannot truly understand what you are going through, but I am prepared to listen. You know I am. You know I am here."

Imoen stared at him for a long moment, her expression still one of loss, emptiness and loneliness. There was a long pause as Haer'Dalis waited for her reaction before carrying onwards and the emotions within Imoen wrestled for superiority, but a result was delayed as the door was pushed open bluntly and Anomen stepped in without knocking.

He looked at the two of them impassively, taking in Imoen's state and Haer'Dalis' presence in a moment, then folded his arms across his chest. "Dinner is served," he declared at last, quietly, and as they trooped out past him, heading for downstairs, became acutely aware that there was a very large piece of the puzzle he was missing.


	130. Sides of a Coin

****

Chapter 130: Sides of a Coin

"And finally, the high spot of the tour," Anarg declared with a flourish, pushing open the door to the largest section of the hold of the _Divine Thunder_, allowing his six guests to see just what it was this party of Fallen Paladins were up to which brought in the money and made everyone from the Radiant Heart to the Shadow Thieves so interested in keeping an eye on them.

…but we're getting a little ahead of ourselves.

Anomen and his five companions had returned to the _Thunder_ that morning to talk to Anarg about any ways in which they could assist the Fallen Paladins, from a 'brotherly' perspective which would, hopefully, let them get close enough to the exiles to allow the party to do whatever they needed to. Anarg had been very enthusiastic about giving them a tour of his ship, which he was obviously very proud of. At that moment, Reynald was not on board, however – Anarg had said that his second in command was on the shore, taking care of some 'business' which he himself did not have the time or inclination to deal with, as he would apparently prefer to attend to their guests.

The tour had been fairly mundane until that point. There were various interesting cargoes the Fallen Paladins were carting around, from ales in barrels to some fine silks – Anarg had told them that the _Thunder_'s next port of sail was down in Calimshan – but there had been nothing overly iniquitous at that point. Imoen and 'Rondlek' had been eyeing Anomen all the way, and to those two, the two who knew him best in this party, his internal struggle was quite visible. Anarg's _pièce de résistance _would, no doubt, calm the struggle, however.

Anomen's jaw actually dropped for a few seconds, but he managed to close it before Anarg or any of the other Fallen Paladins could notice. "This… this would be the primary source of your income now?" he managed to stammer, assuming a nonchalant tone as Anarg led them further into the room. Behind the leader of the Fallen Paladins' back, the cleric gestured to his comrades that they should stay outside, but was a little too shocked to protest when Imoen followed him in anyway.

Along the side of the hold, deep in the shadows – for the only light in there came through cracks in the boards above them, a single, incredibly weak lantern in the middle of the room, and any lamination from the doorway – many shackles were set, the sort which would bind a man by ankles and wrists and stop him from moving more than a few feet around. Inside those shackles, bound so tightly and packed so close together that they couldn't even extend the full liberty of the shackles, were perhaps two hundred slaves. 

The stench inside the hold was quite incredible; it was the stench of many human bodies pressed together for days at a time, the stench of hardships, and the stench of imprisonment. If an emotion could be attached to this stench, it would be despair.

Anomen raised a gauntleted hand to his mouth and nose to try to block out the stench. "What… what are you planning to do with them all? How did you _get _this many people on board without the Athkatlan guard noticing…?" he mumbled, managing to hide his aghast expression behind his hand.

Anarg shrugged casually, somehow completely desensitised to the sight presented to them. "There are ways. A small boat late at night isn't going to get all that much attention from the Athkatlan guards if it's suitable discreet. We'll be taking them with us south to Calimshan… I'm sure they'll bring in a nice few gold pieces."

"Is this what got you ejected from the Order, Anarg?" Anomen demanded, far too shaken to manage much by way of convincing acting for the leader of the Fallen Paladins. "Murder was mentioned, but slavery…"

"I suppose you would have heard about that, yes," Anarg mused, almost nonchalantly kicking a slave who tugged at his metal-clad shin. "The man I killed was a noble from outside Athkatla. These people are some of the villagers who used to live on his land. Their homes were burnt to the ground; it was assumed that they fled. It was what prompted those fools of the Order to eject me."

Anomen's voice was thick as he fixed the other man with a cold look, only just managing to keep it on this side of murderous. "And your comrades, here, the other Fallen took part in the destruction?" he asked, shocked.

Anarg shrugged. "Some of them. One or two have joined our ranks since then, like Reynald. But the majority, yes." He paused, smiling at Anomen with faint confusion. "You seem to be less than enthusiastic about this all…?"

"There is a mild difference between us, Anarg," the Helmite managed to say, avoiding too much venom in his voice as much as possible. "I left the Order, but I did not step away from my god. I did not set aside righteousness…"

The fallen paladin threw an arm over Anomen's shoulder. "My boy, my boy, I understand that this is hard. There are some of our number who similarly have some problems with the way we do things… they have yet to let go of the incipient 'morals' of the Order; those restrictive and naïve tenets. I do not force them to take part in what we do. Reynald himself has been a little difficult in regards to the slaving, but I think he is beginning to understand. I will understand if you wish to have little to do with this venture of ours."

"I am sure there are other matters where we can do business," Anomen said at last, scrabbling towards the light in an effort not to completely bring their plans crashing down. "After all, when our judgement comes, we are more similar than we are different." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he managed to force out a smile as he backed out of the room, not wanting to see or smell the slaves anymore. There were no more questions in his mind.

Anarg considered this for a long moment. "There is… something you could do for me. Just a minor request. Something I would do myself if I could, and which you would be much more able to do…"

* *

"It is a simple matter to retrieve Anarg's cup," Keldorn said quietly once the party was on the shore, out of sight behind some buildings near Delosar's Inn to have a quick conference and plan. "But the question remains what we should do with the Fallen Paladins. There can be no doubt left in your mind, Anomen," he finished, smoothly removing his helm to allow his face to breathe a little.

The Helmite was leaning against the nearest wall, his gaze fixed on the blue horizon, where a few ships could still be seen making their way across the sea. "No doubt, Sir Keldorn," he murmured numbly, evidently deeply lost in thought. "We must bring them to justice and free those slaves. Even if it means the death of Anarg and the others."

"But how?" Imoen asked, wringing her hands together slightly. "You heard what Anarg said… most of the Fallen were with him when he captured them, and most of them are with him all the way. That means that they seriously outnumber us."

"_Most _of them are with him entirely," Aerie pointed out quietly, frowning slightly. "He mentioned that there were some who weren't entirely happy with it all. And Reynald was one of them," she concluded pointedly.

"My dove, I would not think that proposing to Anarg's second in command that he joins us in trying to bring down the entire group of which he is a part – the only group to which he has any ties anymore, the group which now seems to be all he has – is the greatest of ideas…"

"I do."

The six adventurers whirled around as their supposedly private time of conspiring was interrupted by an armoured figure standing just at the corner to the building they were huddled against. Although the figure had no weapon in his hand and his posture was distinctly not aggressive, his arrival still triggered the party to bring up their weapons instantly – drawing swords, notching arrows, raising hands ready for a spell.

Reynald de Chatillon managed to look fairly nonchalant and unconcerned as he stepped towards them, palms open, showing them his empty hands. "There is no need for violence. I have no hostile intentions towards you." He paused, taking in the six of them as they practically bristled with weaponry. "Though the feeling does not seem to be mutual." He paused, and smiled briefly at Keldorn. "Greetings, 'Rondlek'. How is retirement from the Order treating you?"

Anomen's face twisted into a snarl. "Do not think you can come here, act nonchalant, discover what we are doing and expect us to let you walk away to tell Anarg, you… you murderer, you slaving scum…" he snapped, raising the Flail of Ages aggressively.

Reynald looked serious again as his expression fell a little. "You will not believe me, but it pains you to call me thus. A murderer… aye, I am that, and on a larger scale than some would think. But the slavery… that I do not condone."

"You do not stop it," Keldorn pointed out, but still sheathed the Sword of Chaos as he fixed Reynald with an evaluating look, clearly giving the Fallen Paladin the benefit of the doubt but seeking out with his powers as an Inquisitor to discern Reynald's intentions.

"I cannot," the fallen paladin pointed out. "I have attempted to shift Anarg, to convince him that this does not need to be done, that it _should _not be done, but he ignores me. To press harder, to confront him truly, might…" His voice trailed off, and Reynald glanced away. There was a long pause, a long silence until he spoke again. "I have lost Torm. I have lost the Order. Am I to lose the other Fallen too? They are not all like Anarg. I cannot continue alone… and I once thought that maybe he could be changed, maybe there was hope for him."

"Who are you to teach redemption? You yourself need what you expect to teach!" Anomen snapped, his nostrils flaring a little as he took a step forward, and seemed on the verge of attacking Reynald there and then. It was only Keldorn and Imoen grabbing him which managed to make him calm down slightly.

"I do not seek redemption. I have had enough of a life striving for that which is impossible. I turned my back on my Lord Torm, and my sins are such that I cannot atone for them. But that does not mean that I condone the continued sins of Anarg. I am lost to my god and the Order, but it seems as if he is lost to sense." Reynald looked back at them slowly, having hardly batted an eyelid at Anomen's flash of anger. "The slaving must stop, and we Fallen brought to justice. And I believe you are the people to do it."

Imoen released Anomen at last, and the cleric slunk back a little as the pink-haired mage shook her head. "I don's see how, unless we involve the Order, or the guard. Your Fallen outnumber is way too much for us to bring them to heel."

Anomen glanced over slightly, returning the Flail of Ages to his belt quickly. "Perhaps. Perhaps not," he declared at last, a thoughtful expression on his face. He nodded as they all glanced over at him. "I have an idea…"


	131. Chaos and Flame

**Chapter 131: Chaos and Flame**

"I am impressed," Anarg declared, with a slight note of surprise as Anomen placed the cup, taken away from the Fallen Paladin upon his ejection from the Order, on the table with a slight clink. "I had not thought it could be done so easily. How, by all the Gods, did you acquire it so easily?" He looked up at Anomen with a slightly surprised expression.

The Helmite shrugged, smirking a little as he exchanged a secretive glance with Imoen. "We have our ways," he replied cryptically. Quite obviously, he thought it would not be a particularly good idea to say that Ryan Trawl had been happy to loan it to them, as long as they could return it afterwards. The party was well-endowed with thieving skills; Anarg could assume what he wanted.

Provided, of course, he did not know the truth. The plan Anomen had laid down depended very much on timing and distractions at the right places, not to mention everyone doing the right thing at the right time. This was why there was only himself and Imoen who had gone to the ship and now stood in Anarg's quarters to deliver the cup. Others had their duties. Anomen himself had to be present for the gesture to be convincing, and Imoen was probably the most lethal member of the party when unarmed, so he had brought her along – in some ways, for his own protection. He wore only simple clothing, thus was unarmed and unarmoured. His training and strength did not render him completely useless in battle, but it was much better to bring a trained mage and rogue along with him for the ride.

"Evidently." Anarg stood up and shook Anomen's hand firmly, his eyes lit up with a glee and certain amount of greed. "You have certainly proven yourself, Lord Delryn – not that I doubted your intentions in the first place." He smiled brightly at them both.

"I'm almost insulted that you thought to do so at all," Anomen replied dryly, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards slightly in a smirk.

"And I'm insulted that you thought me so stupid," Anarg said. The fact that his tone remained calm and his expression didn't flicker at all meant that it took a few seconds for his words to sink in, and for the full meaning to hit the two adventurers.

Before they could react, however, the door flew open and in strode two of the Fallen Paladins, blades in hand, ready to grab Anomen and Imoen and slam them into the walls, pinning them without a chance of wriggling free.

Anarg stepped forward to face them, his eyes flickering from one to the other as they struggled, and a sadistic smile crossed his face. "You fools. You think that I did not know why you came here? You think I have no ears within the Order?" He stepped forwards, his face drawing closer to Anomen's as he sneered at him. "You think I did not know of the mission Trawl gave you? I'm not the fool you take me for, Delryn."

He walked back a few paces and gestured to the cup. "This has very little value to me in itself. It was merely a test. One would only be able to take something like this from the Order if they had been allowed to – not even the Shadow Thieves can penetrate the Halls. That you were able to acquire it so quickly…"

Anomen blinked, the past few seconds having gone by so quickly that his mind was still reeling. "I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped, shaking his head. "Our leader is a rogue who can make the Shadow Thieves quail and do his bidding as he tells them. You think a cup is a challenge?" he demanded. It wasn't that he was lying there, after all. Well, not much. So the Shadow Thieves didn't quail, but they had done Harrian's bidding… and even though their agreeing to help the party had nothing to do with Harrian's thieving skills, little things like that could be glossed over.

This was not good.

Anarg laughed and shook his head. "Silence, Delryn. I think it's about time to give you what you deserved, for not surprising or disappointing me. I do so hate being wrong about things." He paused, scratching his chin. "Now, maybe you could spend some time down in the hold with those slaves you're probably so desperate to free… yes, you're in good physical shape, good for labour." His eyes flickered over to Imoen, who had stopped struggling and looked as if she was thinking at a rate of knots. "And you… yes, I'm sure you'd fetch a nice price," Anarg continued, looking her up and down. Anomen made a futile noise of frustration.

The leader of the Fallen Paladins chuckled loudly. "What ails you, Delryn? Finding it hard to understand that I am being so… mercenary about all of this? It's what I am." He paused, and clasped his hands together, taking a deep breath. "We shall be sailing tonight, and your comrades will be unable to chase you. But it seems as if…"

Whatever things seemed to be, Anarg didn't get a chance to explain as a loud boom noise was heard, and the ship shook mightily. The two Fallen Knights clasping their prisoners managed to keep their footing and their hold, but Anarg staggered for a few moments, clutching at the table in his quarters to steady himself.

"What in Bane's name…?" His voice trailed off, and he hurried to the window, sticking his head out to peer around the side of the boat and try to work out just what was going on out there. "Fire!" he screeched at last as yelling and the sound of combat could be heard, along with, indeed, the crackling of flames.

He whirled around to quickly backhand Anomen, his face alight with fury. "This is all your doing! I'll see you hang for this, you cur!" Anarg spat, grimacing. "This is all that fool Reynald's fault, I'm sure of it."

"Anarg, you've been wrong about many things in the past, but this is one of the few times you are absolutely correct," a voice from the doorway declared in cool, measured tones. Before anyone could react there was the twang of a crossbow string, and the knight holding Anomen fell with a shriek, a bolt sticking through the slit in his helmet, blood gushing liberally from the hole.

Reynald pulled his longsword out of its sheath for his second dramatic arrival in as many days, and levelled it at the second knight, who let go of Imoen and lunged for the turncoat in their midst. Reynald easily blocked the blow, but before a more destructive piece of swordplay in limited quarters could take place, Imoen had leapt for the cup on Anarg's desk and clobbered the knight around the head with it.

With the protection of his helmet it wasn't enough to knock the man out, but it stunned him for a few seconds, and as he staggered, dizzy, Reynald easily ran him through, then turned to face Anarg.

The unarmed leader of the Fallen Paladins cursed quietly and spat on the floor as he backed off into one of the corners in his quarters. "Damn you, de Chatillon. I'll have your head for this, I swear it…"

"No, Anarg, I think the courts will have yours." Reynald stopped to consider this for a moment, then inclined his head slightly and shrugged. "And if the Gods will it, they may have mine. But you will not."

Anarg drew himself up straight and glowered at them all. "I will not come quietly – you will have to kill me before I will submit to you!" he growled, clenching his hands into fists. "You will kill more, Reynald? Won't that hurt your supposed redemption?"

"I have no 'supposed redemption'. I have only attempted atonement," Reynald said softly, sheathing his blade. He glanced over at Imoen. "My lady, if you could pass me that cup for a moment, please?" he asked lightly, then nodded his thanks as the pink-haired mage passed it over.

Anarg tensed up, suspicious and unknowing but ready to fight as Reynald drew closer, tossing the cup from hand to hand. His posture was so relaxed, so amiable, that Anarg was obviously taken by surprise when his former lieutenant curled his fist around the cup and smashed his former leader around the face with it.

Reynald tossed the cup to Anomen as Anarg sank like a sack of potatoes. "Trawl will doubtless want that back," he mused, shrugging, then glanced at the unconscious fallen paladin. "What are we to do with him?"

Anomen stared at Anarg's inert form for a long moment, thinking as rapidly as he could with the ringing of steel and the shouts of battle in his ears. "He is a rich nobleman. The courts will have no justice for him that he cannot buy his way out of."

Imoen raised an eyebrow. "I think we have plenty of witnesses who might be able to create a solid case against him."

"And for what? A year of imprisonment?" Anomen looked pained. "The Order will know what to do with him," he declared at last, resolution crossing his face as he nodded. "The boats are ready?" he asked Reynald briskly.

Reynald nodded firmly. "Aerie is loading the slaves onto the boats as we speak. Keldorn, Haer'Dalis and Minsc are making themselves responsible for the chaos you can hear out there," he explained wryly, then stepped forwards and yanked the flaming torch on the wall away from its fixtures. "We can get out in the confusion."

Anomen leant down and heaved Anarg to his feet, Reynald assisting him as best he could with a torch in his hand. Imoen moved to open the door, relieving one of the downed Fallen Paladins of his dagger as she did so.

Outside, up on deck, chaos was reigning. The furled sails were blazing merrily, and the forward mast had already fallen, setting alight the bow of the ship. The Fallen Paladins, most of them unarmoured and groggy as they ran around in the chaos, seemed to have little clue what was going on, and even less as those of their number who gathered their wits about them and made a move were felled by the shadowy shapes of Keldorn, Minsc and Haer'Dalis. In the discord some were even fighting each other, faces unseen and panic running high – and amongst all this, steadily, a flow of slaves, under the watchful eye of Aerie, were making their way to the boats moored alongside the Divine Thunder, where highly confused Athkatlan Guards waited to collect them. It was almost a miracle that Anomen had managed to enlist their help, but with the necessary proof and backing of the Order, the task had been made easier than it might have initially seemed.

A young, sallow-faced knight wearing little more than a tunic and his longsword hurtled up to them as they emerged from down below, looking exceptionally panicked and increasingly bewildered as he saw them drag Anarg up. "Sir Reynald!" he said, his voice a little high pitched. "What is going on here?"

Reynald didn't answer at once, merely stood up straighter, and before he could gather his thoughts the youth had put two and two together. "Sir Reynald!" he repeated, sounding a lot more indignant and angry this time, realisation striking. "Treachery!"

Anarg was dropped as the trio jumped away from the sword-waving youth, the unarmed Anomen backing away from the fight and casting his eye out for a weapon, Imoen moving back for a safer spot to cast a spell or two. Reynald, however, didn't bat an eyelid. Transferring his torch to his right hand, freeing up his sword arm, blade struck blade quickly enough as he found himself in his second fight of the evening.

Even as Anomen desperately searched the nearest body for a weapon he could use and Imoen raised her hands, ready to cast magic missile, Reynald blocked the blow from the youth and swung the torch at him. Flame touched cloth, and all thoughts of the battle or his turncoat superior evidently flew from the young fallen knight's mind as he found himself set alight.

Imoen's incantation did not go to waste, however, as the nearest other warrior who looked set to intervene found himself struck by several shining red orbs, and toppled backwards over the railings and into the sea. She flashed a grin at the still unarmed and increasingly frustrated Anomen, then glanced at the boats. "We should get out of here, before more of them gather their wits," she said.

"Agreed," Reynald intervened. "Now, if only –"

"If only what?"

They whirled around to see the formerly unconscious Anarg on his feet, clutching the sword the youth had been wielding seconds before, the light of battle in his eyes and a very angry expression on his face. His gaze fell on Reynald. "You'll die for your treachery, de Chatillon."

Reynald looked briefly frustrated, but raised his sword slowly in a salute to the other Fallen Paladin. "And you shall die for your evil, Anarg," he replied softly, then glanced at the two adventurers. "Get to the boats. I shall deal with him," he told them.

Anomen lingered for a moment, but an insistent tugging from Imoen made him turn and head for the side, where Aerie was herding the last of the slaves onto the boats and Keldorn and the others were falling back to. They exchanged wordless glances as they descended the rigging to get into the nearest of the small dinghies, all highly aware of how there was little time to waste as the Divine Thunder continued to blaze away.

"Tell the other boats to go!" Anomen yelled at their oarsmen as the six adventurers settled on their dinghy. "We have to wait for Reynald," he continued, against his own wishes sitting down so as not to rock the boat as the others also settled themselves.

Keldorn, looking worn and weary but with the light of battle in his eyes, leant over towards Anomen. "Lad, we should be going. This ship is burning as we speak, and it is not wise to linger for very long," he told him.

"We're not leaving without Reynald," Anomen replied staunchly, folding his arms across his chest and looking back at the flaming shape of the ship they were moored to. He paused for a moment. "What was that explosion we heard when you began your attack?" he asked at last, frowning.

Keldorn's expression was one of both amusement and bother as he answered. "A little surprise we were able to buy off a gnome peddling in the Government District," he replied vaguely, his face hard. "But… we loaded the ship up with it. Magical in nature, I don't know what it is… Jansen called it 'Flamepowder'. But, Anomen… we filled the ship with it. When the flames reach it, the ship will explode." Using this as enough of an explanation, he turned to the oarsmen and briskly told them to set off towards the shore.

Imoen frowned, chewing on her lower lip. "We're not leaving Reynald, are we?" she asked anxiously, her eyes flickering back towards the deck of the Thunder.

"I'd rather not have us all blown up to the realms of oblivion, my wildflower, in waiting for one man who can most likely take care of himself," Haer'Dalis, looking as tired as Keldorn, replied casually and not even slightly reassuringly.

As they drew further and further away from the ship, their eyes all still fixed on the deck of the Thunder, signs of the fight between Reynald and Anarg became noticeable. Two shapes moved quickly alongside the railings, their swords flashing in the firelight as they duelled. A swipe from Anarg knocked Reynald to the side, and as he staggered, his sword flew from his hand and over the side, splashing into the water.

Anarg moved forwards, blade upraised, but before he could strike the staggering Reynald, there was another loud boom, and the entire ship lurched with the explosion, rising out of the water and falling again with an enormous splash. Anarg was knocked to the floor, but Reynald, gripping to the railing fiercely, remained upright just long enough to throw himself overboard and into the murky waters of the ocean, even as the ship was racked with another explosion from this mysterious weapon Keldorn had acquired.

Anomen was on his feet in a moment, shock on his face. "He's fully armoured, the fool! He'll sink like a stone!" he yelled. Without hesitating or apparently even thinking, the Helmite shoved past Keldorn and Minsc, then dove into the water himself, evidently intent on rescuing the Fallen Paladin.

Imoen grabbed the arm of the Athkatlan guard directing the oarsmen. "Turn us about," she directed. "We have to pick them up."

"But –"

"Do it!" she snapped uncharacteristically grimly, her eyes fixed on the murky depths of the seas approximately at where Anomen ought to emerge if he reached Reynald.

As the boat drew closer, several oarsmen allowing the little ship to move quickly, Keldorn was frowning deeply. "That foolish boy… Reynald may have helped us, but to die for him is not…" His eyes flickered up to the Thunder, where the now separate parts of the ship were beginning to sink slowly.

Eventually, after several agonising seconds, the surface of the water broke, and Anomen emerged, clutching a spluttering Reynald to Chatillon. The boat drew near them, and an oarsman stuck out an oar for them to hang onto as they got their breath back before attempting to clamber back onto the boat.

Keldorn's eyes rose to the sinking ship far closer to them than he would have liked, and the ageing inquisitor folded his arms across his chest. "Well," he mused, frowning slightly but unable to smirk a little at the two sopping wet knights climbing out of the water. "I think the Order will be pleased."


	132. Battle Plans

**Chapter 132: ****Battle**** Plans**

Harrian had not best pleased when the Delryn estate suddenly erupted into action the morning after at an ungodly hour. Although 'erupted' might have been a bit misleading – activity came in dribs and drabs, working up towards the climax of a victorious group of slaver-killers around late morning.

He had been awoken when dawn broke by the arrival of a messenger from the Shadow Thieves who had precious little regard for common courtesies such as knocking. Harrian hadn't bothered to ask how the man had managed to get into the house and up to the bedroom, knowing he himself would not have found such a task to be overly challenging, but this did not mean that it wasn't aggravating. Ignoring the states of undress he had found the recipient of his message and his companion, the Shadow Thief had almost wordlessly handed over a sealed scroll, then overly dramatically departed through the open window.

Harrian made a mental note to ask Anomen if he could set up a bear-trap just by the main gate, and loosen the tiles on the roof so that anyone trying to stand on them would plummet to their doom.

The message had been from Linvail, as was expected, saying that the Shadowmaster had managed to get together the forces he would need for aiding in the defeat of Bodhi's cult, and that they would be ready by nightfall. Harrian questioned the wisdom of assaulting a vampire's den at night when daytime would give them an advantage, but had not been in a position to press the issue.

The second arrival had been Keldorn, whose appearance had mercifully been once Harrian and Jaheira were actually dressed. Worn, beaten and bloodied, the retired Inquisitor had yet explained the success the other half of the party had enjoyed the previous night, adding that Anomen and the others had retired to the temple of Lathander, which had generously offered to take in the slaves they had freed. They were also there to watch the return of the few Fallen Paladins who had survived the sinking of the Divine Thunder, and to see what would happen to them. Keldorn had rapidly declined any offer for breakfast – having witnessed both Harrian and Jaheira's culinary skills on the journey to Trademeet – and departed, pleading a need to return home.

The sun had been high in the sky, thus, when Anomen and his four companions came back to the Delryn Estate, tired and worn yet jubilant and victorious. Whether they'd wanted to or not, Harrian and Jaheira had heard all about the defeat of the Fallen Paladins, which Anomen in particular – fairly rightly – was treating as a personal victory on his part. Mercifully, they had ended the retelling with the news that the Order had similarly gathered enough knights to aid the cause, and were ready for the attack whenever Harrian deemed it to be time.

The swashbuckler considered this for a few moments as he lounged in the sitting room of the estate, eyeing his jubilant companions warily. "The Shadow Thieves say that their forces will be ready by nightfall," he started slowly, mulling this over. "But an attack by day is far wiser. I would say tomorrow, just after dawn, so the vampires are weary and deprived of rest."

Imoen nodded slowly, wiping some soot from her forehead. "So that means we get one last night before… the biggest of battles." Her expression shifted slightly with uncertainty, and Harrian could see the tumultuous thought processes behind it. So close to getting her soul back… in some ways it was unreal.

"Indeed, my wildflower," a slightly more energised Haer'Dalis agreed, clapping his hands together. "One night to enjoy before we may all go meet our dooms! 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die' as the saying goes."

Everyone stared at the tiefling with varying degrees of venom. "Bard, there is another saying I am familiar with," Jaheira started coldly. "If you have nothing useful to say, then say nothing at all."

"We can't have that," Anomen muttered under his breath. "Otherwise he'd be mute, and that would be most distinctly odd indeed. But welcome."

If Haer'Dalis heard Anomen, he didn't show it, and he distinctly ignored Jaheira's comment. "It shall be a great battle, with a great cause. The bards shall stand and sing of this day… and this bard in particular is one of them."

Harrian glared at him. "Haer'Dalis, if you have plans to carry on with that damnable ballad you insist on composing, then make sure it never comes to light until I am dead. That will give it more weight, anyway. All heroes are dead."

"I intend to make you a living hero, my raven," Haer'Dalis smirked.

"Tough. You play it in taverns when I'm still around, I'm hurling myself off the nearest building," Harrian retorted.

"I could throw him off the nearest building for you," Anomen offered. It seemed weariness and recent events made him far less inclined to watch his words in terms of politeness when it came to dealing with the tiefling blade.

"Not necessary, Anomen. He has his warning," Harrian mumbled, then stood up. "I'd suggest you all spend the day relaxing, and get some good sleep tonight. You're all weary, and we need to be as alert and ready for tomorrow… as there's no telling what it might bring," he told them ominously.

"I'll ensure we feast tomorrow eve upon our victory," Anomen declared with a chuckle as he and the others all stood, leaving the room to doubtless either relax as instructed or prepare their arms and armour. The only one who lingered behind was Aerie, eyeing Harrian shyly and nervously.

He smiled kindly at her. "Something I can help you with, Aerie?" he asked slowly.

The Avariel nodded. "I do not want you to think that I am ungrateful for your assistance… if it were not for you, I would be dead – or worse, a slave of the Drow. But I have been thinking most seriously… and I believe it might be best that I part your company soon," she told him. "I would not dream of abandoning you before the battle tomorrow, and it pains me that I feel I ought to leave before your quest is done at all, but…"

Harrian nodded, still smiling. "Aerie, you do not need to feel obligated to even battle Bodhi. This is not your fight."

"It is not Anomen's, or Haer'Dalis', Minsc's, but they are all going to fight for you and Imoen," Aerie pointed out.

Harrian considered this. "If you wish to stay until tomorrow, I will not stop you. You have your own life to live, your own path to beat out, and I'm not going to assume it lies with me. I still barely know you, Aerie – I'm not going to ask you to die for retrieving my soul."

"I owe you that much, Harrian," she said. "Yet I feel it would be best if I leave. As you said… there are things I need to do in this life, in my life, which do not necessarily revolve around your existence. I hope you cannot blame me…"

He shook his head. "I cannot blame you. I could not blame any of the others if they decided that this path I walk is not the path for them. I do not fight with them because they are obligated to lend their swords to my cause – I fight with them because… because they have chosen to, and that is more powerful than any obligation. You are not an adventurer at heart, Aerie."

She nodded. "Exactly. I want to see the world, and do things, but… not by the point of a sword." Aerie paused, and glanced at the door. It seemed most of the party had gone to the garden to collapse in. "I also feel it would be best if I left the group."

Harrian didn't really need to ask. "Haer'Dalis?" As she nodded, his expression darkened. "That bard is becoming more trouble than he is worth."

Aerie smirked slightly. "True, but I think the trouble he causes is not for you to deal with. Your companions may be walking the same path as you, but they have their own lives to lead. Let them get on with that, and do not feel you have to supervise their existences as well."

"I wasn't…" Harrian's voice trailed off, and he realised that he had been planning to do that. "There are ways, Aerie, in which you never cease to amaze me," he sighed, shaking his head. "It will be an honour to fight alongside you tomorrow, and is an honour that you wish to lend yourself to this cause. I can do nothing but wish you luck when you choose to depart afterwards."

Aerie smiled shyly. "T-thank you," she replied at last, before turning and leaving.

The early afternoon sun was starting to spill through the windows before the next interruption came, and Harrian was pouring over the sketches and plans he had found of the crypts. They were imprecise at best, as they had been pieced together over a century ago, but they would do as a general guideline.

The door to the estate opened and closed, though Harrian thought nothing of this until the door to the drawing room swung open, and he glanced up. A tall, broad-shouldered man, perhaps in his late twenties, with thick blonde hair and slight sideburns stepped in. He was wearing a slightly ripped tunic and a worn expression, and his cloudy blue eyes were unwavering and fixed on Harrian.

Instead of being surprised by a complete stranger entering the house, Harrian leant back casually and met his gaze easily. "You would be Sir Reynald de Chatillon, would you not?" he said softly, keeping his expression open.

The man shook his head. "I am Reynald de Chatillon. But I am no knight," he answered in the same tone. "Anomen directed me to come here once I was finished with the Order," he elaborated slowly.

"Yes, he told me. What did they say?"

"You are Harrian Corias?" The swashbuckler nodded, and Reynald moved to sit down stiffly. "Anomen had explained my actions to the Prelate, and as they talked with my former comrades amongst the Fallen Paladins, I was directed to Torm's shrine to sit in contemplation and… wait."

"For his decision?" Harrian asked.

"Or judgement. I don't know," Reynald confessed. "There was… nothing. For nine hours, there was nothing, which in itself is odd. If I were unworthy, then I would have been cast out immediately. Which is what I expected. I have not done enough to be deemed worthy. I still have blood on my hands."

Harrian was tempted to ask just what brought the paladin down in the first place, but thought the better of it. "Maybe that means you have a chance to prove yourself worthy, then," he mused idly.

Reynald nodded, a little over-eagerly. "That is what Sir Ryan said, Lord Corias," he told him. "Of course, the Order would not direct me through any… redemption. But they said they would support it. I have been told to leave, to travel, and to attempt to make peace with my lord through more actions." He paused, and glanced up at Harrian. "I wish to begin by joining you in your destruction of the vampire cult. And then on your quest, if you would have me."

Do we really need a fallen paladin desperately searching for redemption along for the ride on a quest which has a tendency to step into morally grey ground? Harrian mused instantly. Well, it's his decision. He seems more stable than the rest of the party.

There was a pause as the Bhaalspawn considered this. "Begin with the cult. And then… then we shall see," he answered at last.


	133. Exit Haer'Dalis!

A/N: I know, it's been a ridiculously long time since I've updated. And promises to be longer still. I've been lingering ridiculously over this, and don't intend to post anymore chapters until I've finished it. And as there are, maybe… 20 chapters, max, left? Hopefully be done by Christmas. Then we'll see about ToB. That really does depend.

**Chapter 133: Exit Haer'Dalis!**

Haer'Dalis couldn't believe his bad luck. It was as if all the fates were conspiring against him, aspiring to bring him down from whichever height he struggled towards, and cast him lower than he had started. There were carrots on sticks being waved around in front of him, out of reach and taunting him to trip over his own feet. Well, that wouldn't happen to this bard. Not again.

The afternoon had been spent in quiet contemplation for all. Haer'Dalis had retired to his room to continue with his ballads and plays, utterly unconcerned for the coming battle, and as evening hit the city of Athkatla, drifted out a little to see what was going on. The news was not particularly encouraging.

Aerie was leaving. For all of his hard work, for all of his courting, his words, his eloquence, she was leaving after the battle. She had blushed much when he challenged her, but all she had said was that she wanted to see the world and that the party wasn't right for her. The wingless Avariel had also completely respond the subtle hints he had placed – that if she wanted a companion, he would be more than glad to accompany her. Either they had gone unnoticed, or she had seen them but not picked them up. Whichever it was, it was fairly clear that his dalliance with this fair beauty was… very over.

He could have lived with that. She had provided entertainment, for a time – her soft and innocent manner, wrapped around a distinctly more solid core which wasn't going to let him in. A girl of layers was she, and although Haer'Dalis wished he had more time to… unwrap them, he had had a taste, and thus would not be greedy once she had left. Besides, it wasn't as if he had been left completely alone.

There had still been Imoen. Although Anomen had been lingering more than usual, lurking and laying claim a little more aggressively than before – which was, in itself, an interesting change to view – Haer'Dalis had been pretty convinced that he still held weight. He was, after all, her rock in unsteady times, the smile in the sadness, the light in the dark. And even if they had drifted, even if she had seen him turn his attentions to Aerie, Haer'Dalis thought himself skilled enough at his work to recover from such a dip.

So Haer'Dalis had headed for the garden, ignoring Reynald and Anomen – engaged as they were in a game of chess – with such an air that they knew he was ignoring them, and found Imoen sitting thoughtfully by the fountain. Somehow, from just looking at her, and her posture, and they unenthusiastic way she had glanced at him upon his arrival, he had realised that the heights were now unattainable. And now found himself stuck in a position where he would have to salvage what he could and withdraw gracefully.

He took a deep breath. "You seem lost in thought, my wildflower," Haer'Dalis murmured as he walked slowly over to the fountain, perching on the edge and looking down at her solemnly. "What ails you? Your brow is heavy with worries of our battle tomorrow?"

Imoen looked up at him slowly, not broken out of her pensive mood by his arrival or his words. "No, it's not that. I'm… I'm not worried about the fight tomorrow." She paused, biting her lip. "I suppose I probably should. I mean, we are hurtling into the den of a vampire and her minions… a vampire who has my soul… has imprisoned us before… and probably knows that we're coming." She raised her eyebrows. "Should I be worried?"

"No, perhaps not," Haer'Dalis mused. "After all, all creatures of darkness such as Bodhi are vanquished in the end. Light prevails, evil falls… 'tis the way of things," he sighed, feeling his enthusiasm for the situation waning.

Imoen frowned slightly. "Are you all right? That doesn't sound like your normal blurb at all," she declared, moving to perch on the back of the bench she was seated on and observe him in that unendingly chirpy way of hers.

"Well, I am trying to get this tale written down like so many others bards have recorded in the past. And tales have certain… rules. Certain guaranteed endings, certain assumptions we can make as to what will happen," Haer'Dalis told her. Though it seems as if assumptions, indeed, are a little dangerous.

Imoen snorted quietly. "Yeah, Haer'Dalis. Because life is a fairy tale and reality or freedom of choice has nothing to do with it."

He shrugged. "In a way. Life is a stage, and we are but the actors running through the parts which have been already written for us. Some things we cannot change. Some things are guaranteed in this life, in this play. And they're not always the things we expect."

She looked at him, obviously seeing the difference in his mood. "What's up with you?"

Haer'Dalis sighed, and reached out to grab her hand before she could pull back. Time to play the final scene with grace and dignity. "My wildflower… you know indeed what I feel for you; know how my heart beats for you and my affections are indeed yours?"

Imoen pulled her hand back, looking sad but resolute. "No… I don't. And it doesn't and they aren't." She paused, taking a deep breath and looking as if this was something she had given a large amount of thought. "I may have been… vulnerable. I may still be vulnerable. And that may have blinded me a little in the past. But I am not, nor ever have been, stupid."

Haer'Dalis blinked, assuming an innocent expression. "I never assumed you were, my wildflower."

"Well, you did," she said, surprisingly in a voice without venom – it was as if she had reached a conclusion and now was intent on seeing that through, and emotion had stopped having anything to do with it. "I'm not foolish enough to ignore the way you flirted with Aerie, and it's… Gods, I'm not jealous…" She paused and twisted to look at him straight on. "I know that you really don't feel anything for Aerie." There was another pause. "Or me."

Haer'Dalis automatically looked shocked, and stood slowly. "My wildflower, you doubt me? How can you question what is in this heart?" He stopped for a second, then raised his hand tentatively. "And now it's raining," he mumbled bitterly. "Do even the elements conspire against me?"

"Things don't conspire against you, Haer'Dalis; you conspire against them and they just react," Imoen elaborated, also standing, her voice still oddly devoid of anger or sadness, just resolution. "I can't blame you, somehow. This is what you do, who you are. You don't do any of it out of malice at all, which makes you hard to understand… and to blame."

"My wildflower, I assure you that nothing I have done has been with the intention of harming you!" Haer'Dalis insisted, backing off a little towards the door back into the estate as the rain started to come down harder.

"I know," she said. "It's just your nature. It's just what you do." Imoen frowned, then also scurried towards shelter. "But I am going to ask you to not try talking to me like that again. If for nothing else, then to stop you from wasting your time, as you won't be successful."

Haer'Dalis cocked his head to one side as he regarded her pensively. "You are an interesting creature, my wildflower. Most women would have cursed me and possibly thrown a few things at me as well, but you… accept the way of things." He smirked a little. "You would make an excellent Doomguard." He paused, sighing slightly. "Though I understand you. Most other women would be angry, believing that I had led them on, lied to them and built up their feelings. But then… I suppose I never quite had your affections, did I?"

Imoen glanced down at the floor for a long moment, obviously thinking. "I don't know. You did help me. When I first lost my soul, when I was alone and everything was dark. When I found myself sliding into… Gods know what. You did help me then. And whatever your reasons were, I'm grateful for that. But I think there was… not much more than that. You helped me, and I started to rely on you."

Haer'Dalis nodded slowly. "I shall take that as something, at least." He glanced up, eyeing the greying skies as they dropped yet more rain. "I should leave the party," he said at last. "Harrian does not need me tomorrow at the battle, and he will probably be grateful if I leave. I have sown enough discord for one place, and the planes hold many, many more treasures to explore." He smirked slightly.

"You don't have to leave," Imoen said hurriedly, almost a little too hurriedly.

"Stay, should I, my wildflower?" Haer'Dalis laughed. "Yon knight is a hair's breadth from crushing my skull in a fit of anger. No, I have played my part here, and there are more to come." He nodded. "I shall go pack. You may tell Harrian… whatever you wish; I do not think it wise to interrupt him at this moment…"

"No, I don't think he'd appreciate it," Imoen replied slowly.

He cheerfully reached out to take her hand, and raised it to his lips lightly. For once, this was a fairly sincere gesture, and he looked actually rueful as he let it go. "Fare thee well, my wildflower. I bid you good fortune on the morrow… and hope that your endeavours to retrieve your soul will go successfully."

"Thank you," Imoen said quietly, smiling an honest smile at him.

They froze, however, as the door back to the estate creaked, and they whirled around to see Anomen standing there. From the looks of things, he had been there for a few seconds at least, and wore an expression of both shock and confusion. "Why… retrieve… your soul?" he asked, in the suspicious voice who has heard something which makes a lot of sense they didn't want to hear.

Haer'Dalis blinked, then stepped back. "Ah… I think… this might be my cue to leave," he mumbled, stepping forwards. For once, Anomen co-operated with his intentions and sidestepped to let him hurry back into the estate quickly, away from whatever explosions would take place in the garden.


	134. Soulless

**Chapter 134: Soulless**

Anomen stared blankly for a few moments, his eyes wide and surprised, feeling as if he'd just been beaten around the head by Minsc. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Imoen, who was resolutely not meeting his gaze and shifting from foot to foot in the middle of the garden. "Bodhi… stole your soul," Anomen concluded slowly at last, still reeling.

"I'm going for a walk," Imoen replied stubbornly, pushing past him and stepping out the front door into the street without looking back or hesitating. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving an exceptionally stunned Anomen to make a half-hearted move after her.

He stopped after a few steps, staring at the closed door. Somewhere, at the back of his mind he remembered that he'd come out in the first place to mention that dinner was ready, but this somehow seemed inconsequential.

Bodhi has her soul… Bodhi **stole** her soul… that's what we're going for; not just the Rhynn Lanthorn… Anomen took a deep, shaking breath. She's a Bhaalspawn. That's why… why she wouldn't… Gods, everyone else **knew**, didn't they…

He looked up as footsteps on the stairs could be heard, and Haer'Dalis appeared at the bottom quickly. He must have only been gone a few seconds, and looked fairly exasperated. "My hound, though you will be very loath to take my advice, this I know… perhaps you should consider going after her?" he suggested, looking like he couldn't believe Anomen was still here.

The tiefling's right! Anomen blinked at how confusing that in itself was, but shook that away as he nodded mutely, hurrying for the door and pausing only to grab a cloak from the hooks. It was raining ferociously hard now, and as he stepped out, he felt himself soaked to the bone even before he could pull the cloak on.

The rain made visibility fairly limited, though the Government District was absolutely deserted because of it. As he ran out into the expansive gardens of the District, cloak flying behind him so wildly that it was offering precious little protection he desperately scanned the area, looking for wherever she'd have gone.

He saw her at last, perched by the side of the fountain, utterly drenched to the skin, staring at the water of the fountain as it ran through its course and, in the high winds, probably drenched her just as much as the rain did.

Imoen spotted him approaching before he arrived, and this time she met his gaze. Her eyes seemed somehow darker, more haunted, and he prayed it was just the sudden stress rather any affect of being soulless he hadn't noticed before… or was imagining now.

"Didn't you have to get dinner ready?" Her voice was deceptively light as she stood up, raising a hand to brush her sopping wet hair out of her face, for all the good it did in the high winds.

"Reynald can deal with it," Anomen replied in the same tone, staring at her and not even slightly sure what he was supposed to say next. He realised that they had rather gone beyond the moment to watch words carefully, so he took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Imoen shrugged. "I didn't mean to tell anyone. The only one I did tell was Haer'Dalis, and that was… right after it had happened… Harrian wasn't there, he was the only one who could possibly listen and hope to understand…" She waved a hand vaguely, frowning. "Jaheira didn't need to be told. She's known about my heritage for as long as she's known about Harrian's, and reached the obvious conclusions. Minsc is… well, I never told Minsc, but he's Minsc. You…"

Anomen took a step forward, folding his arms across his chest and desperately trying to not sound angry. He wasn't sure he was angry, truth be told; he was more stunned right now and trying to work out what the hell had happened before he worked out how he felt about it all. "What about me? I asked why you didn't tell me." More venom than he intended crept into his voice.

Although Imoen seemed to notice this, she didn't react. "I don't know. I just… I didn't, not at first. I was afraid of how you'd react. Things were so delicate, what with you having left already… and I didn't know if you'd understand. Harrian had to understand. Haer'Dalis… has… a different way of looking at things. Jaheira had always known." She raised her head and looked him in the eye. "You… I didn't know what you'd think, how you'd look at me."

Anomen snorted, throwing his arms in the air with exasperation. "You honestly believed that I would look at you differently? You believed that I would not stand by you as I always have? You believed I would cast you out when I was honour-bound to stand by the quest of your brother and retrieve his soul?"

"It didn't make sense, I know that!" Imoen snapped, suddenly angry with him for being angry. "But then it became more about you not knowing, rather than about what you didn't know. And then we were in the Underdark, and then there was that mess with the Fallen Paladins, and then…"

Then I kissed you. Yes, I know. Anomen took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn't fair for him to be angry at her. "Were you ever planning on telling me?" he asked as coolly as he could manage.

Imoen shifted uncomfortably. "I meant to tell you before tomorrow. I didn't think that I could somehow retrieve my soul without you noticing," she mumbled, shaking her head. "Fine, so I was procrastinating! Happy?"

Anomen yanked off his cloak and stepped to her, wrapping it around her shoulders. "We should go back to the house. We'll get ill otherwise, and then what good will we be to fight tomorrow?" His voice was wry, yet sad.

She nodded, unconsciously moving closer to him for warmth. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she whispered as he guided her back towards the Delryn estate. "It wasn't… wasn't a conscious decision, not entirely. I just managed to justify to myself that there wasn't a… a right time to let you know…"

"I know," Anomen said quietly, wondering if he did. "I suggest you go get dry, and I'll bring you up some food to your room."

Reynald had started to continue the chess game on his own when they came back, and gave them both merely concerned glances when Imoen headed up the stairs and Anomen made a bee-line for the kitchen, both of them drenched through. Anomen barely looked up when the fallen paladin entered the kitchen as he prepared a bowl of stew for Imoen, putting it under the flame for a few more moments to warm it up a little.

"So she is a Bhaalspawn too?" Reynald asked uncomfortably – not because of the subject matter, but more because how delicate a situation this obviously was. "Like Lord Corias… I suppose that makes her more than merely his foster-sister…"

Anomen grimaced as he grabbed cutlery and put the meal on the table, eyeing Reynald curiously. "Is that a problem for you?"

Reynald snorted. "Anomen, I am someone who has been condemned for their actions, for their mistakes, for their crimes. I am not about to condemn someone for what I would consider to be an accident of birth."

"Good," Anomen replied curtly. "I suggest you get to preparing your equipment. We have an early start tomorrow," he continued vaguely, walking past Reynald and heading for the stairs.

Imoen had dried herself and changed her clothes when he knocked at her door and entered, making him fairly aware of how he was still sopping wet, albeit not as soaked as she had been. "Your food, my lady."

She smiled weakly yet sincerely at him and took the bowl from his outstretched hands, moving to perch on the bed as he uncomfortably went to sit on the chair at the desk, suddenly acutely aware that this bedroom had once been Moira's room. Anomen briefly wondered if she would approve of all he was doing here, of all he had done.

"It's good, as always," Imoen mumbled, sounding a little like her old self as she quickly ate the stew.

"When you are done, I shall let you sleep," Anomen replied casually, thinking that he should probably go but somehow unable to move. "We will all need our strength tomorrow."

Imoen shook her head firmly. "No way. Even if I tried, there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep tonight," she said with surprising conviction, actually chuckling wryly a little. "I'll be fine. You go get some sleep."

"I never sleep before a battle," Anomen admitted. "I had planned to read a little… or, if thoughts became too troublesome, spend some time praying to my Lord Helm. And if I drift off, so much the better…"

"Then go do that." Imoen put down the bowl and fixed him with a fierce look. "You don't need to wait on me hand and foot, you know."

Anomen stood up slowly, and as Imoen's expression flickered – doubtless she thought he was leaving – he walked over to the bed and sat down next to her stiffly. "I am under the impression that you will not be passing a very easy night," he said. "Either nightmares in sleep or tormenting thoughts in consciousness. Do you wish me to leave you to that?"

Imoen didn't answer straight away, merely stared at her hands. "I don't expect anything else. I'm afraid, of course." She glanced up, looking out the window. "Tomorrow, we go to fight an almightily powerful vampire and her minions to retrieve my soul. I don't see how that's something which anyone can take lightly."

Anomen hesitated for a moment. At the one moment, there were things – things about her heritage, her Bhaal taint – he wanted to know about, but the next he wanted to focus merely on wiping away her fears. He decided on the latter course of action – working out what in the hells to make of her heritage could come later. "We shall defeat her. We have the strength, the numbers, and the determination." He leant towards her slightly, conspiratorially. "For what other cause could we possibly have allied the Order of the Radiant Heart and the Shadow Thieves of Athkatla? This is great indeed."

"I suppose." Imoen frowned, looking as if she was fighting with something inside. "It's just… we have to make it. If not for me, then for Harrian. And if not for Harrian, for Suldanesselar."

Anomen looked seriously at her. "We will make it, my lady. I promise you." He tentatively reached out to take her hand. "I swear to you that we shall retrieve your soul. On my life, I swear that it shall be done."

Some of Imoen's resolve seemed to crumble, and she shivered, leaning closer into him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Could you… just stay here for a bit? I mean, you don't have to, and you don't have to stay very long, but could you…"

"Stay?" A small, if nervous, smile played across Anomen's lips, and he shifted back a little to rest his back against the wall, hesitantly putting his arm around her and pulling her close. He knew he was still pretty wet, but Imoen didn't seem to complain. "That… that, my lady, I can do."


	135. On an Eve

**Chapter 135: On an Eve**

Harrian pushed open the door to the butler's room, having been roused from his eating of Anomen's meal by the general hubbub going on. The door had opened and closed a few times, footsteps had been heard on the stairs, and then he'd noted the unmistakeable sounds of somebody packing. It looked as if the events which had been rising lately had finally come to their conclusion.

Haer'Dalis glanced up as he shoved a few gaudily-coloured shirts into his small pack, and gave the party leader a smile Harrian knew had been pasted on. "My raven! I had not expected you to be wandering the corridors at this late hour. Can I help you?" He turned his back on Harrian and moved to gather up some stacked piles of parchment – presumably scripts.

Harrian blinked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning casually against the door-frame. "What, exactly, are you doing?" he asked slowly, frowning a little.

"Departing." Haer'Dalis straightened up, and hefted the pack onto his back. "Something I should have done a long time ago, my raven, and yet I only saw so now. My presence is no longer welcome, and there are other stages that this sparrow needs to view and act upon. My time here is done."

Harrian scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware that he needed a haircut after the time in the Underdark. "You've argued with Anomen, haven't you," he said, sighing, though he wasn't entirely sure how the brusque Anomen could have won a battle of tongues with the quick-witted bard.

"No. Not at all." Haer'Dalis smiled thinly, and shook his head. "I have spoken to Imoen… I see that Aerie is leaving… and I see that I no longer have a place with you, no longer have a part to play. There is nothing worse than a character who does not know when the curtain drops for him. My curtain has dropped."

Harrian nodded. "Are you sure?" he said, straightening up. "You've been a valuable member of this party." To his slight surprise, Harrian was actually finding that he was loath to bid the bard farewell. They had travelled together for the last two months – fought at each others' side, drank and laughed with each other, and in this sombre business the tiefling had been one of the few specks of light-heartedness. Despite his infuriating nature, Harrian wasn't entirely sure the party could function without him.

Haer'Dalis nodded slowly. "I am sure. There are places I need to go, people I need to see." He started for the door, and Harrian let him past. "Though I shall regret not having the opportunity to record your greatness for posterity, my raven. It shall make a grand ballad, once the Tale of the Bhaalspawn is complete."

Harrian smiled thinly. "You're only the second bard I've ever travelled with. I think you'll have inside knowledge that will make your retelling one of the more accurate." He leaned forward to rest a hand on the tiefling's shoulder. "But if it ever gets to the stage where I'm seven feet tall and can kill Irenicus with one cold glare as I wave my overly-large broadsword around, then we're back to being hurled off buildings." The thin, forced smile gave way for a cheery smirk.

Haer'Dalis gave a brief, light chuckle. "Fear not, my raven! Yours is a tale which does not need embellishing. I have no doubt that… you can be a hero without the prattling of we bards."

"Once, I would have liked that. I set out from Candlekeep wanting to be a hero. Now I'm just here to…" Harrian's voice trailed off, and he shrugged. "I don't know. Survive. It's all I've been doing for the last year. Heroes have to have some grand cause."

"Heroes," Haer'Dalis declared haughtily, "have to do something heroic. Stopping a war was fairly heroic, no? And much easier for bards to write." He nodded slowly, more solemnly than Harrian had ever seen him do so, then smiled a surprisingly genuine smile. "I take my leave of you, Harrian Corias. I have no doubt that our paths shall meet again, but currently I have to go over the hills far away and see what I can see."

And with that, he turned on his heel and started down the corridor. As Harrian stood still for a few moments, he heard Haer'Dalis walk down the stairs, approach the front door, and slam it shut behind him. He was… actually gone. It seemed hard to believe.

We may be actually gone tomorrow, if we don't get some rest, Harrian told himself, frowning a little and heading further along the corridor. He stopped at Imoen's door, and knocked lightly. There was no answer.

He'd last seen Anomen heading up to deliver her meal, so she was probably asleep. But then again, if she wasn't… it wouldn't hurt to check up on her. Tomorrow would be hardest for her more than anyone.

With all the subtlety his profession required, Harrian eased the creaky door open and poked his head through the gap. Then he smiled and stepped in discreetly to extinguish the single candle dimly lighting the room before walking out and closing the door behind him. Anomen and Imoen lay sprawled on top of the bed, curled up together, fast asleep and unaware of his presence.

It was just as well that they were both fully clothed, as Harrian really didn't want to have to hit Anomen before a battle.

Aerie was apparently already asleep, so he lightly stepped down the stairs, hearing voices from the sitting room – quiet ones, hardly audible over the crashing of the rain upon the windows and the roof.

"Where to now, Boo?"

Reynald and Boo were, apparently, teaching Minsc how to play chess, Harrian discovered as he poked his head in. From the look of intense concentration on the Rashemani warrior's face and the slight expression of horror on the Fallen Paladin's, it seemed as if they were quite successful.

"Reynald, Minsc." Their heads whipped around to look at Harrian as he stood in the doorway. "Make sure you get some sleep tonight. I know it's quite early, but we have to be up just before dawn. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Anyone else in the party would have probably cracked a joke at him playing a maternal role, but it would not have occurred to Minsc and Reynald was the newcomer, not feeling in a place to mock the party leader. They merely nodded.

"Once Minsc here has finished destroying the armies of darkness," Reynald said dryly, gesturing hopelessly as a white castle took a black knight. "And you should, too. It is never wise for a party leader to be weary before leading his men into battle."

"Don't worry about me," Harrian replied, intentionally evasively, before moving through the sitting room for the door at the far end. It led to the cellars – also known as their armoury and workshop – which was where he assumed he would find the final member of the group.

Indeed, Jaheira was perched on a bench down there, polishing Belm with a rag until it gleamed. Harrian made sure his step was light as he descended the stairs, and paused at the foot of them, merely watching her for a few moments. Her movements were florid, confident and efficient – as they were in all things – and even when apparently alone, her expression was stiff and emotionless. He knew Jaheira would not be one to allow inner thoughts to rule at a time like this.

"I think it's only sunlight that kills them, not light reflected off a shining blade," Harrian commented quietly, smiling slightly as he stepped towards her softly.

If she was surprised, she didn't show any signs of it; merely set Belm down and turned to look at him. "A blade in poor condition is a tool unfit for any job," she told him mock-sternly, a smile tugging at her lips. Harrian remembered getting that lecture from Khalid when they had first started out on the road and his guardians had taken it upon themselves to turn a cocky, irritating boy into someone who might actually stay alive out in the big wide world.

"Yes, but you'd think we were going on parade," Harrian said, moving to sit next to her and gesturing to her gleaming set of chainmail that hung off the wall.

"Preparing equipment before battle… helps me focus my mind," Jaheira said at last, giving him a slow, thoughtful look. "As ensuring everyone's wellbeing seems to help focus you." She reached out to grip his hand firmly.

"It's easier to worry about everyone else rather than yourself. I know I can stay alive," Harrian told her.

"And you can't trust these other, seasoned warriors?" she asked.

He sighed. "This is the biggest battle we've been into since Sarevok. And there's an even bigger one on the horizon if… when we find Irenicus. The party's been lucky so far. I just… don't want to lose anyone. Anyone." He gave her a meaningful look for a moment, then shifted his glance away. "Haer'Dalis is gone."

"So now there really is nobody in the party you'd like to see die," Jaheira noted dryly, the smile appearing this time. She stood up and turned to face him, resting her hands on his shoulders. "You cannot guarantee that everyone shall live. Nobody can. All we have to do is believe that we will. If everyone makes sure that they survive, then we will all emerge alive."

She paused to trace a finger along his jaw, stroking his goatee lightly when she reached it. He automatically tensed, used to Imoen teasing him and then tugging painfully at it, but there was no threat in Jaheira's touch.

"So make sure that you're worrying about yourself and not just everyone else," she continued, her grey eyes sincerely locking with his dark ones. "You're not cut out for open combat. Do what you do best, and let Anomen and the others – with our horde of paladins, of course – take the brunt of the battle."

"I always do. I'll be slashing away with the Equaliser and the Daystar at the back." Harrian's expression hardened a little. "But Bodhi shall fall. I shall see to it."

"We will all see to it." Jaheira regarded him for a few moments. "You've been telling everyone that they need to sleep tonight, haven't you."

"Yes…"

"Do you intend to follow your own advice?" Her eyes were calm, serious.

Harrian shifted. "Probably. You know I don't always sleep well…"

Her hands moved to grasp his, and she pulled him to his feet. "You will sleep. I'll see to it," Jaheira told him solemnly. "It's the only way I can be sure that you won't be falling unconscious tomorrow and miss a vampire's claws."

Harrian smiled and shrugged in his practiced nonchalant way which he'd forgotten didn't fool her. "I know how to stay alive."

Jaheira pause, then shifted to look at him. "So just sleep to put my mind at ease."


	136. Sources

**Chapter 136: Sources**

Athkatla, the City of Coin, was not one of the many cities which tended to rise with the sun. This was because, more than anything else, the city didn't go to sleep in the first place. Just before dawn, the streets would be filling up with merchants setting out their wares, and businessmen flitting off to their centres of employment, ready for the day's work. They themselves would be taking over from the nightshift of activity presided over by the courtesans and the thieves – of whom there were many in such a centre of iniquity. Different people ruled the day and the night, but Athkatla was never left to its own devices. Everyone had their time.

Adventurers, in particular, tended to be limited to the daytime, as they were not known for being early risers when in the city. Innkeepers were accustomed to encountering them coming downstairs as the sun hung high in the sky, bleary-eyed and hung-over after one of many after a night of general revelry. If they did get up early it was to leave town, and then they would be a jovial, laughing and active lot heading for the city gates.

Seven grim-faced warriors with arms and armour that would put a king's soldiers to shame were not a common sight to be seen marching down the main street in the pre-dawn darkness.

The chill of the night had not yet been chased off by the sun, and so Harrian still had his thick cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. For once both scabbards were strapped to his back, the Equaliser and the Daystar hidden from view but very much at hand if needed.

Next to him strode Reynald de Chatillon, wearing the gleaming Pride of the Legion armour – a gift to the party from the Order for dealing with the Fallen Paladins and, in Harrian's eyes, the most fitting possible armour to equip Reynald with. Today would be a test for their new party member as much as anything else, and from the way the former knight carried himself and the assured way he gripped the Sword of Chaos made Harrian's hopes for Reynald quite high.

On the swashbuckler's other side walked Imoen and Jaheira, the latter in her brilliant chainmail and holding herself with all the assurance Harrian had ever associated her with; the former's suit of Elven Chainmail clinking lightly as she moved. That in itself was telling – Imoen would normally be silent in all actions; that she was shifting around needlessly spoke of how nervous she – quite rightfully – felt.

Behind them, three-abreast, strode Anomen, lamplight glinting dangerously off the Flail of Ages; Minsc, giant Warblade already in his hand, ready to cut down the undead; and Aerie, who gripped her quarterstaff with a stoic determination none of the others had yet seen her exuding.

They had marched down to the Underdark before, on a journey of high risk and length. This was the first time they had travelled, exclusively, into battle. This was to be a fight to the death, and none of them intended it to be their death.

Sunlight had not yet penetrated the high buildings of the city yet, and the graveyard was still shrouded in darkness as they approached it. There was still time to wait for the Paladins and the Shadow Thieves, then to commence the attack once the sun rose. But all they would do now was wait.

They came to a halt just in the entrance, Harrian sweeping his cloak back so it wouldn't get in his way when the combat started. There was a grim, oppressive silence that had settled, the tension of the situation getting to them all as they stood around awkwardly, shifting a little.

"Did you hear the one about the gold dwarf, the goblin, and the halfling innkeeper?" Imoen asked at last, her quiet voice nevertheless jerking them out of their reveries as effectively as if she had shouted.

They all turned to stare at her. "What?" Anomen asked, a little numbly.

"It's a joke," said Imoen. Despite this fact, Harrian still thought she looked as if she was going to be sick. He wasn't sure he could blame her.

Reynald blinked, tearing his eyes away from the ornate entrance to the graveyard he had been examining analytically. "Very well…"

"Right." Imoen pasted a sickly smile on her face. "So this dwarf walks into a tavern –"

"Telling jokes?" a cool, cold, and decidedly dangerous voice interrupted Imoen's attempt to lighten the mood. "I can't say it's exactly how I expected to find the conquering heroes of light arrive in an attempt to destroy me."

The Daystar was in Harrian's hand in an instant, and he whirled around to point it threateningly at Bodhi, hearing the others similarly launch into action. The vampire was lounged casually against one of the tombstones by the entrance, looking for all the world as if a team of adventurers come to destroy her and her cult was merely a minor inconvenience.

"Downfalls come from the most unexpected of places," Harrian told her coldly, his sword unwavering from where it was pointed at her throat.

Bodhi's eyes narrowed at him in her first show of any emotion beyond cool indifference. "You are an annoying pest, and one I look forward to erasing. You have survived by luck so far, but now you have wandered right into my willing hands. Luck ends here."

"Really? It was luck that kept us all alive last time? Luck that sent you and your brethren fleeing away from the scourge of righteousness?" Anomen interjected, glaring and swinging the Flail of Ages slightly, clearly itching to use it.

"It was your heritage that kept you alive last time, Child of Bhaal." Although it was Anomen who had spoken, Bodhi's gaze did not waver from Harrian's. "The darkness within you transformed to a full physical manifestation." A cold smile crossed her face. "I heard about what happened the day after, where your old enemies caught up with you somewhat."

Harrian's expression only flickered a little. He remembered that day only too well. "Quint was irrelevant; nothing more than a mere interference from a fop who didn't know when business had moved on."

"Was your transformation that nearly killed half your party irrelevant? I think not." Bodhi sauntered forwards slowly, and although swords were raised more aggressively, nobody moved to attack. They were at an impasse, of sorts – the party not wanting to do anything that could trigger an all-out battle before their allies had arrived, Bodhi possibly not wanting to launch into a battle where she was outnumbered seven to one.

"You are a curiosity amongst your kind, Corias," the vampire continued, looking at him. "Most Children of Bhaal, like Sarevok, keep their distance from others; do not allow close anyone for any reasons other than merely using them. You… have your friends and comrades, and seem very attached to them." There was a pause as Bodhi's gaze flickered to Imoen. "But you are not unique, Corias, it seems."

Imoen met the vampire's gaze without shuddering, though Harrian knew, from the way she tilted her head and clenched her jaw, that she was fighting back any fear or apprehension – it was indeed there, just hidden below the surface. "By the time the sun's high in the sky, Bodhi, you'll be dead and I have my soul back."

Bodhi ignored her, focusing back on Harrian. "It is your weakness, Corias – these friends you keep, these comrades who are more than tools. You do not need them."

Harrian smiled humourlessly. "I have many weaknesses, vampire. But my friends are not one of them."

"No? You rely on them. They are your source of strength." Bodhi laughed a cold laugh. "But you do not need them to be. And they are weaker than you are. When you draw your strength from those weaker than you, it makes your strength tenuous. As your source could so easily be eradicated."

"We are stronger than you think, abomination of nature," Jaheira spoke up, her voice just as icy as Bodhi's. "And Harrian has his own strength; he does not need us as his source. With or without us, he will prevail, and you shall die this day."

Bodhi's expression lightened. "Ah yes, Jaheira… once the guardian, once the guide, and now the lover. I suppose you are the greatest support of all." She smiled disturbingly playfully. "You know how it is to lose that source of strength, don't you. Irenicus took away yours." The smile broadened as Jaheira's iron grip on her scimitar tightened even more. "And you had Harrian Corias here. You managed to push on strongly. I wonder, would he manage to continue so willingly without his source of strength?"

Looking back, Harrian wasn't entirely sure how it had happened so quickly – or indeed, how it had happened at all. When Bodhi launched forwards, Minsc let out a great bellow, Aerie screamed, Reynald spat the most ferocious curse he'd ever heard a knight utter, Imoen muttered the beginnings of a spell, and Anomen blinked and mumbled "Helm!"

Then a sudden, thick fog had surrounded them, even as Harrian launched himself forwards, knowing Bodhi's target without even realising it; going so far as to drop his sword, thinking that… if he got there, if he grabbed Jaheira, it would be…

He collided with the wall, hitting his shoulder against it painfully. But he ignored the ache, ignored the explosion of shock within the party, ignored the terse shouts of greetings from Sir Eric of the Radiant Heart and Arkanis of the Shadow Thieves as they finally arrived seconds too late. All he could hear was the clattering of a scimitar dropped on the floor, and all he could see was the air where Jaheira had once been but was no longer.

The sun peeked over the top of the nearest buildings, and a ray of sunlight shone over to reflect dazzlingly off the polished metal of Belm as it clattered against the stone paving. Jaheira was gone, and Bodhi had taken her.


	137. Profit and Loss

**Chapter 137: Profit and Loss**

Imoen was distinctly worried about Harrian. He was not a warrior by profession or nature – his fighting skills were more suited to a one-on-one scuffle in a dark alleyway, or a small skirmish against a group of opponents when he also had the party at his back. They were not fighting skills suitable to a great, large-scale battle against multiple powerful foes who outnumbered them three-to-one.

This wasn't entirely what concerned Imoen. Harrian had coped with such encounters in the past, keeping behind the frontline fighters like Minsc and Anomen, and battling in a way that kept him effective yet alive. He wasn't doing that right now. From the moment they, along with the Shadow Thieves and Paladins who kept eyeing each other warily, stepped foot in the crypts, Harrian had been throwing himself into each encounter with the sort of deadly fervour that got one killed.

Again, however, him getting himself killed wasn't what had Imoen worried, because Harrian seemed to be holding his own quite well against five vampires at a time, twin swords flashing in the torchlight and despatching foes left, right and centre. That was what had her feeling nervous. Her brother was being most efficient at dealing out death.

They had fought their way through the first chambers of Bodhi's lair; ended the lives of all the vampires they had encountered. Anomen had been swift with his holy symbol of Helm, powerful enough now to not only repel the undead, but even injuring some of them with his chanting. Reynald and Aerie were also wielding stakes, going from coffin to coffin as the fallen vampire withdrew to it, and ending their lives entirely.

Imoen remembered these chambers all too well; recognised the corridors they had run through before, the rooms she'd been imprisoned in. And now they were narrowing their search, descending to the lower levels where Bodhi doubtless was… to the room which had once been Irenicus' workshop. Where she had had her soul ripped from her. Where she intended to get it back.

As the group trod silently down the corridor, heading for the door ahead, Arkanis the Shadow Thief held up a hand. "Hold!" he instructed, his voice low, his rat-like features shifted into an intense expression as his deep-set dark eyes ran across the walls in front of them.

Imoen followed his gaze, and noticed the crack in the wall that was certainly not there from age or wear. "A trap," she whispered, almost kicking herself for not noticing it. With Harrian hardly thinking straight, she should have been more alert. If Arkanis hadn't been there…

The Shadow Thief moved forwards lightly, drawing some tools out. He extracted a long, thin strip of metal, and crouched before the crack in the wall, gently easing it in. There was a long pause, a click, and then nothing.

Harrian smiled grimly. "Sneaky bitch, isn't she?" he said, his voice far more venomous and cold than Imoen could ever remember it being. "We'll have to thank her for that."

"Right before we send her back to her grave for good," Anomen murmured, pressing forwards, Minsc, Reynald and Sir Eric standing at his shoulders. The group hurried on towards the door, behind which Bodhi had to be, assembled with her vampires and ready to make a final stand. And, hopefully, it was where Jaheira would be also.

They came to a halt at the door, and assembled around it. Sir Eric turned to them, lowering the visor on his helm, and hefting his blade. "It might be best if you allow myself and my paladins to go in first – we are the best in the frontlines, and are most suited for destroying creatures like vampires."

Harrian seemed to consider this for a moment, sheathing the Equaliser – new toy or not, the Daystar was more suitable for use against the undead – before he straightened up and gripped the hilt of his sword. "No," he said at last. "Bodhi is mine to encounter." And with that, he shoved open the doors and strode in, seemingly oblivious as to whether or not the others were following.

"Bodhi!" his voice rang out through the crypt, more harsh and commanding than Imoen had ever heard it. "No more running! No more tricks! Thrice now have you fled before me in this graveyard! No more!"

As the others hurried up to stand beside him, the sight was not pleasant. Bodhi stood, balanced on the edge of a large bath of blood, hordes of her vampires standing by her. Again, they were outnumbered. Again, they would have to fight beyond what they had fought before.

"So, you have found me," Bodhi said casually, walking casually around the edge of the bath. "At last. Though, I confess, I have not gone to great lengths to hide myself from you. Fleeing and tricking is a most useful tactic when it means that you get to fight the enemy on your own turf."

"You should have hid better than that, vampire!" Anomen spat, and for the first time Imoen noticed how tense he, too, was, the Flail of Ages shuddering a little in his shaking – from anger, she presumed, not fear – grip. "We have chased you, we have hunted you – we have taken the fight to you – and now this hunt shall end on our terms."

Imoen stepped forwards, a curious mixture of adrenaline-pumping courage and nauseating fear pounding through her stomach. "The fight ends here, Bodhi! We shall take back what you have stolen! I will have my soul!"

Bodhi shrugged far too casually. "You may try, indeed. But you shall fail. There are elements at work here which have been planned for far too long for a Bhaalspawn like yourself to interrupt." Imoen felt, rather than saw, Anomen wince at the vampire's words. It really probably was just as well he'd found out last night about her heritage.

Bodhi hopped down from the edge of the bath. "I suppose you have a great cause, crusade, which has brought you here? Otherwise your desire for revenge is impressively tenacious, especially as I have done little to you… barring knocking you out, locking you up, and trying to drain you of all blood," she said to Harrian.

Harrian's chest was heaving with barely-controlled anger, and there was a light of fire in his eyes. "The Rhynn Lanthorn," he said at last, though it was quite clear the elven artefact was the last thing on his mind here. "You stole it."

"I suppose I did," Bodhi commented lazily, examining her claw-like nails. "And I shall keep it. Those elves shall not use it."

Harrian's eyes narrowed, and it seemed that, despite his agitation, he had not entirely lost his presence of mind. "Why Suldanesselar, Bodhi? What's there that you and Irenicus want? Why the elven city?"

Bodhi smiled humourlessly. "Elhan sent you, didn't he," she said unquestioningly. "And I'm not surprised he didn't explain it all. Didn't explain the situation. After all, it would be quite embarrassing for him."

Aerie shifted a little. "W-what do you mean?"

"Well, no elf would attack the city, would they? No elf would strike a deal with the drow against their brethren, would they? No elf would do as Irenicus and I have done!" Bodhi declared loudly. "It would almost be worth letting you live so you could slink back to Elhan and demand answers! Almost!"

Harrian smiled a bright and frighteningly feral smile. "Well, that's just one more thing I'll have to remember to ask about when we're out of here. In the meantime, you will pay for what you have done. You will pay for the attacks on the elven city, and you shall pay for the theft of the Rhynn Lanthorn, my soul, Imoen's soul, and Jaheira!"

Again, Bodhi smiled. "Ah yes, Jaheira. I was wondering when we would get that far. Interesting." The ranks of the vampires parted slightly to show, standing behind them, Jaheira. Only it wasn't her – not quite. Her skin was pale and sickly, and there were two fine prick marks at her neck which were still bleeding a little.

"There was no time to turn her completely," Bodhi explained, in the tone of a market seller talking about their wares, "but she is under my thrall entirely. She shall do all my bidding. Won't you?"

Imoen drew a deep, shaking breath of anticipation as all eyes were fixed on the deathly-pale druid, who raised her head. There was nothing even resembling Jaheira in her eyes. "Y-yes, mistress," came the cold, empty voice.

Harrian looked as if he was either going to be sick or explode into rage. "Like I said," he told Bodhi, his voice shaking a little as he pointed the Daystar at the vampire and sounded as cold and uncompromising as ever. "You. Shall. Pay."

It was always like that. The tension rising before a battle as the two sides eyed each other, taunted each other, threatened each other, and got said what was needed to be said. The emotions running high, trying to keep them under control, trying not to crack and trying to keep control of the situation until it exploded.

And when it exploded, anything went.

A frenzy of activity broke out, and Imoen gripped her sword as she lunged towards where Bodhi was lurking behind her row of vampires. She wasn't a warrior in any shape or form, but a magic missile between the eyes of the nearest undead made it clear that she had strengths on the field of battle.

Anomen standing right beside her and warding off any attacks also helped a little.

Bodhi saw them coming, tearing her gaze away from where her vampires were locked in combat with the adventurers, the paladins and the Shadow Thieves. "Little Imoen comes to try and take her soul back from a creature more powerful than she can imagine?"

Imoen skidded to a halt and raised her hands, moving them through the gestures and mumbling the words of a spell. Behind her, Anomen crushed the skull of an approaching vampire, and then watched in surprise as Imoen cast a fireball directly at Bodhi.

It incinerated some of the undead around her, but just sent Bodhi flying back a few metres, hitting the floor with a thump. She seemed intact, however.

Imoen moved to lunge forwards again, but a vampire leapt in her way, claws raised. Even as Imoen hefted her sword to despatch it, there was a hum in the air and the Flail of Ages shot over her head, hitting the vampire in the face.

"Do what you have to, my lady!" Anomen hollered over the shouts of battle, raising his shield to fend off another attack. "Worry only about Bodhi – I have the others!" He whirled around, fumbling his holy symbol in his hand as he tried to grip both it and his flail at once, but succeeded at shoving it in the face of the nearest vampire, who fell back with a hiss and a wince.

"You think you can defeat me?" Bodhi asked, back on her feet and facing Imoen. "You think that waving a little sword around and casting street magic will be enough to kill me?"

Her words were punctuated by a sudden leap back as Imoen's sword sliced through the air at stomach level. No mortal being would have been able to move fast enough to dodge that.

"Don't underestimate me. Someone fighting for something important is always going to be a stronger opponent than you'd think," Imoen retorted, raising her sword to a more defensive posture. The screams of the battle were loud in her ears, and the body of a paladin, bloody and beaten, flew through the air next to them to hit the floor and move no more.

Bodhi hissed and launched into the air, her claws hitting steels as Imoen defended herself. Whilst Bodhi could move faster than any mortal, with the speed, agility and toughness that could only come unnaturally, the vampire was fighting against Imoen – a thief and mage of the quickest reflexes, sharpest abilities, and, most important of all, a greater drive and desire for success.

Behind her, Anomen was locked in combat with three vampires at once, hard-pressed but fighting valiantly. She was dimly aware of Aerie coming to his aid, chasing off one with her own holy power, and beating it down with her magic at the same time. Reynald and Minsc were currently cleaving their way through the hordes with the paladins by their sides, and Harrian was… well, she couldn't see Harrian. She couldn't see Jaheira either, which rather explained that.

Bodhi launched forwards again, jerking her out of her attempts to work out what was going on, which it turned out she was to pay for quite dearly, as the vampire's attack this time took her unawares and knocked her onto her back, her sword flying out of her hand and skidding away a little.

Bodhi stood over her, stretching her hand and flexing her claws a little. "Well… it seems all the drive in the world can't bring down the best laid plans… goodbye, Imoen, and know that your soul has a good home." She raised her claws, bared her fangs, and tensed to launch upon her.

The air hummed briefly as three flail heads flew through the air and hit Bodhi in the chest, knocking her back, Anomen quickly following with the light of battle in his eyes. The vampire staggered back, the gashes in her chest wide – if regenerating quickly – but was too dazed to stop Imoen from grabbing her sword and running Bodhi through quickly.

Almost everyone came to a halt as Bodhi let out a loud, piercing scream, and all of the vampires seemed to falter and weaken. "No!" she screamed, falling to her knees weakly. "This… this life… is mine…!" Quickly, her body dissipated, and turned into a thin, wavering cloud that even Anomen swiping at couldn't destroy. It shifted through the air briefly, shimmering, then headed for a door at the back of the chamber, seeping through the cracks in the doorway.

"My lady. Are you alright?" Anomen asked, taking Imoen by the hand and almost lifting her off the ground as he helped her up. Even standing upright, he didn't release her hand, and the light of battle had been exchanged for a light of concern in his blue-green eyes.

"Yes, I… just shaken…" Imoen glanced over at the room where Bodhi's cloud had disappeared to. "She's still not dead. But a stake should… do it… she still has my soul…" Around them, the vampires were reeling, weakened by Bodhi's defeat, and despatching them was increasingly easy.

In the end, there was only one standing, clutching a scimitar and fighting with a warrior who had not brought down any vampires in this room, and who did not seem to be intent on winning the fight. Jaheira did not look as if she was about to turn back to her old self. Harrian was fighting in an empty, futile way – warding off attacks, purely on the defensive, not striking her down himself.

Reynald observed them, stepping up beside Anomen and Imoen, and reached for the crossbow at his hip. "He should strike her down. He does her no favours by extending her torment. With the vampire dead, she should be able to find peace."

Imoen reached out to rest a hand on Reynald's crossbow. "Don't do it yourself, though," she warned him, stepping forward and sheathing her short sword. "Harrian! This is getting nowhere! You can't… you can't save her," she called out to her brother.

"Shut up, Imoen!" Harrian yelled back, much more harshly than he ever had. "I'm not… not going to…" He paused to fend off another snarling attack. "I'm not going to kill her!"

A glance from Sir Eric had his paladins surrounding the fighting pair, and as Harrian dodged another lunge from Jaheira, the vampirised druid seemed to realise that she was surrounded. Hissing, spitting, and not seeming even vaguely recognisable – more beastly than anything else – she lowered her blade, glaring at the paladins, and at Harrian in particular.

Anomen stepped up beside Harrian. The thief stood stiffly, his sword shaking a little as he gripped it, his jaw clenched. From the tilt of his head and the darkness of his eyes, it was clear he was far from being in control. "Harrian… it is what she would want. She would not want to carry on like this," he said, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You don't… there has to be a way!" Harrian snapped, his voice breaking a little as his control wavered. "A way to turn her back!"

"It cannot be done anymore than the clock can be turned back," Reynald intoned solemnly. He looked pale, worn, and surprisingly sickened by the situation. His hand had not gone back to his crossbow.

"She is not what she once was," Anomen continued. "You can save her."

Harrian looked as if he was about to lash out at Anomen, and then saw the expression on his friend's face – remembered his anguish as he cut down Yoshimo so many months ago. "I… can't…"

Anomen hefted the Flail. "Do you want me to?" he asked quietly, glancing at Jaheira, who was being kept at bay by the stern blades of the paladins, still making inhuman noises.

"I… no…" Harrian raised the Daystar slowly, staring at the blade marked with the blood of vampires. There was only one more person's blood that would have to stain it today.

He looked numb and sick as he stared at Jaheira and stepped towards her. She looked at him without recognition, without familiarity, and this seemed to give him strength – as long as there was nothing of her within this beast before him, he could strike her down.

"I love you," Harrian said fiercely, each word sounding as if it was ripped from him. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He struck.


	138. Breaking

**Chapter 138: Breaking**

The silence that fell upon the room was grim and oppressive as everyone drew away from Jaheira's fallen body and Harrian's stunned figure. The swashbuckler's chest was rising and falling with each ragged breath he drew, and his eyes were round and wide and unmoving. The paladins jerkily sheathed their blades, looking immensely uncomfortable, as if they didn't know whether or not to hack Jaheira's body to pieces in an exorcism attempt or just run away.

Arkanis the Shadow Thief was the only one in the room who didn't look too bothered. He was wiping his short sword on the clothes of one of his fallen rogues, seemingly too absorbed in his task to notice what was going on around him. Nobody was really fooled.

He straightened up, and glanced over at the huddled group. "Well done, Corias. I think we can trust you to drive a stake into that black heart. It is best that we be going now," he said, glancing over at where the rest of his Shadow Thieves were eyeing some of the riches of the crypt contemplatively.

Harrian didn't react, merely held the Daystar in a shuddering grip and continued to stare at Jaheira's fallen body.

Arkanis rolled his eyes. "Corias!"

Harrian blinked, and looked over at the Shadow Thief. "What?" he asked, his voice blank and dead.

Arkanis rolled his eyes again. "We're leaving. You can finish this task, can you not?" He raised his hand to toss a stake to him, then paused, considering, and handed it to a disgusted-looking Anomen instead.

Harrian paused for a moment, still blinking. Then his face settled into an emotionless mask, and he sheathed his blade. "Of course. Consider it done," he said. "I thank you for your assistance here today."

Arkanis shrugged. "I think that, with this deed done, you are certainly on even ground with the Shadow Thieves." He paused, a smile playing around his lips. "Maybe we even owe you a favour. Consider us your allies as of now, Harrian Corias." He stepped forward to shake Harrian's hand, and managed not to wince as the swashbuckler took his in an iron grip.

As the Shadow Thieves trooped out, Harrian straightened up and looked a the paladins, his eyes resolutely avoiding Jaheira's body. "I thank you also for your assistance. Without it, I doubt this battle would have been won."

Sir Eric considered this for a moment. "We have not done you a favour here, Lord Corias. We have merely joined you on a cause we should have taken up some time ago." He paused, raising the visor of his helm and scratching his chin. "It says much that we found a common ground with the Shadow Thieves with this deed. The light and the grey against the dark. And what a darkness." He shook his head. "But we won."

Harrian's expression shifted to betray some dark emotion for a second before the mask slipped on again. "We won," he agreed. "With a price."

Sir Eric nodded, casting his eyes around the room where two of his paladins and several Shadow Thieves also lay lifeless. "I regret your loss. But they have died for… a cause."

Again, Harrian's expression twisted, this time into a little anger, but before the swashbuckler could get out some rebuke, Anomen swept forward and grabbed Eric's arm to drag him off to a corner of the room.

"Perhaps, ah, it is not best to talk of this," Anomen murmured, keeping his voice low as Harrian began to pace slightly behind them. "He will not be taking this well. We thank you for your assistance… and I hope now the Order sees that this Bhaalspawn is not a threat."

Sir Eric nodded slightly, looking a little sheepish. "I, ah… yes. I confess I am uncomfortable in these situations of private loss. We shall leave you to finish the task." He glanced over Anomen's shoulder at the party, which was still milling around aimlessly. "You have indeed proven yourselves. He is not a servant of darkness." He extended a hand towards Anomen. "And you, Lord Delryn, have also impressed many at the Order, with both this endeavour and your handling of the Fallen Knights."

Anomen's expression quite obviously showed a struggle between appearing proud and appearing stoic as he shook Eric's hand. "The Order was not at the forefront of my mind in these tasks. The Fallen Paladins… needed to be dealt with. In whichever way possible."

"Indeed. I agree entirely. Sir Anarg was once a good friend of mine, and it pains me to hear of the depravity to which he sank. Evil can strike at even the purest of hearts. And if that is so, then cannot good strike at the darkest?"

"I doubt Bodhi could have come to the light," Anomen commented wryly.

Sir Eric smiled humourlessly. "That is not my point. You have estranged yourself from the Order, Anomen, for reasons we could not comprehend at the time. But since your return, and your assistance, there have been some vocal members who have called for your reinstatement. After today, I shall be joining them. You saw beyond our tenets to follow what was right. Too many of our number now follow instructions blindly."

"That is what you teach them to do," retorted Anomen boldly.

Again, Eric smiled thinly. "Yes. It is. And it is something we shall address. But I think you can wear the title the Gods bestowed upon you proudly, Sir Anomen. Do not think we shall constrain you – you have a worthy cause here. Corias may not be a creature of darkness, but I fear that his struggle against his taint shall be a long one, and he shall need your assistance. Similarly… Reynald de Chatillon shall need a guide back to the path of righteousness."

"I don't need the title," was the unconvincing reply.

This time, the paladin's smile was much more genuine. "It is yours, whether you accept it or not. And the duties we have bestowed on you… well, it is not much of a stretch of the imagination to assume that you would have taken them up anyway."

Anomen considered this for a moment. "If the Order swears that they shall not take unjust action against Harrian, then I shall do as they bid. Have no fear… if he walks down the path of darkness, I shall be ready, and prepared."

"I pray it does not come to that, Sir Anomen," Eric replied. "I bid you well, however – we must leave, and report to the Prelate of our success. Later, I am sure that we shall be clearing these crypts out of their evil taint. We would appreciate any assistance you can lend."

"Send a runner, and we shall be there," Anomen assured him. "Go. We shall… deal with Bodhi, and our loss."

Sir Eric nodded, then gestured to his small group of knights to follow him as he headed out of the crypt, back towards where the sun would have doubtless risen by now. A cold silence fell upon the room, as the party members all stared at their feet, at the wall, at the bodies, and all that could be heard was a dripping noise. None of them really wanted to know what it was.

Anomen hefted the stake Arkanis had given him. "I shall… go take care of Bodhi," he said at last, eyeing the room off to the side tentatively. Nobody reacted except for Imoen, who threw him a grateful and yet scared look.

As Anomen disappeared into the side room, Imoen's gaze shifted over to Harrian. He was still pacing agitatedly, his face a whirling maelstrom of emotions, fighting against some obvious inner turmoil. Every few seconds he would pause, look at Jaheira's untouched body, take a deep breath, then begin to pace again.

"We should leave this wretched place," Reynald said soberly, his own eyes still fixed on Jaheira's corpse. "It reeks of evil and death. Let the Order clean it of its darkness; our task here is almost done."

Harrian stopped again, and gave Jaheira another long look. As he froze, Minsc stepped forward and picked up her body carefully, holding her against him as if she were a child. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, limp and lifeless.

"Minsc shall carry her," the big ranger said forcefully as Harrian stepped forwards. "You are weak and worn, and it is no trouble for Minsc. She was a fellow lover of nature – it is my duty to do so." Boo squeaked morbidly.

Harrian looked torn for a moment, then walked over to Minsc slowly and patted the Rashemani on the arm. "Thank you, Minsc," he said slowly, his voice thick with emotion.

There was a thud from the room to the side, and Imoen's eyes widened as she staggered slightly. Reynald grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her from falling, and the pink-haired mage took a deep, gasping breath.

"It… it is done," she whispered, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. "I… I feel…" She looked up as Anomen emerged from the room, looking grim and holding what had to be the Rhynn Lanthorn in his hands. "I feel whole again."

Despite himself, Harrian could not help but smile, though it was a smile with a deep sadness in his eyes. "Our work here is done," he said at last, his own voice shaking. "Let us leave this place… then it shall be on to Suldanesselar, and to Irenicus." He gripped the hilt of the Daystar. "He has much to pay for."

The procession towards the surface was quite and grim, the trip longer than it had seemed even when they were fighting their way through. The bodies of thieves and paladins, remains left behind by slain vampires, and other remnants of the battle were still there. Harrian didn't see them. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, but he didn't notice it. Minsc was behind him, but he didn't dare turn around and look at him, look at her.

Nobody talked, which was good. He didn't think he could maintain an active conversation without his control slipping. He wasn't going to lose it. He could keep strong. The others didn't need to see their leader break down. He could keep strong.

They stepped out of the crypts, into the main graveyard. At last, the sun had poked over the rooftops, and light was covering the tombs and the gravestones. It almost made the entire cemetery look picturesque, and it was hard to believe that this was a place for the dead to rest.

The dead. Like Jaheira.

A scream ripped out of him at last, making the others jump and almost causing Minsc to drop the body. Harrian whirled around and slammed his fist into the wall of the tomb next to him. There was a crunching noise, but no pain – he didn't know if it was the stone or his hand, and didn't care right then. When he drew back his fist, there was a long crack down the wall.

Anomen stepped forward, and grabbed his hand. "Harrian…"

He shoved him back, sending the cleric back with a force he didn't know he had, with a strength he couldn't have despatched a hundred vampires with, and felt the darkness within him rising as he screamed again and kicked the nearest gravestone, which cracked and collapsed.

This time, pain did register, and he lost his balance, falling to the floor. The anger and blackness within him continued to bubble, to boil and churn, but he couldn't get up, couldn't feel his limbs enough to clamber to his feet.

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him up, murmuring unintelligible words in his ear. He wanted to lash out again, hit whoever it was, knock them back, but his body was still not responding. His legs were weak and failing, but the hands kept him upright. Over to his left, he was vaguely aware of Aerie helping Anomen to his feet, Minsc standing around clueless, and Imoen hurrying over to him.

As Reynald let him go, Imoen grabbed him and wrapped her arms around him, following him as he fell to the floor again, letting the dry sobs wrack his body and not making any attempt to stop him in his sudden, agonising grief.

Control was broken.


	139. Death's Lantern

**Chapter 139: Death's Lantern**

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The heavy bag full of sand shook with every strike, shuddering under the blows and swinging on the thick rope that suspended it in the air. He hadn't paid it much attention before now; had just known it was one of Anomen's training toys and left it in the far corner of the expansive cellar of the Delryn estate. Now, however, it was a very tempting way to release all of his pent-up frustration.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The others hurried around busily upstairs, preparing for the final departure for Suldanessellar. There was no telling how long they'd be gone, which didn't particularly bother Harrian that much. He wanted to be gone from this wretched city, with its corruption and its coin and its politics, as soon as was physically possible. Once Irenicus was dead… well, who knew where his path would then take him? His destiny was still out there, ruling him. He just intended to be ruled far away from Amn. The country sickened him. Even the north was preferable to this. Once he was free – if, indeed, he ever was free – he planned to head for Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Luskan… wherever his skills would take him. He was still young, still only twenty-two, and already more powerful than some twice his age. A way of life would not be hard to find. He had never had a home. His home had always been whatever road he travelled at any given moment.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He hadn't thought about any future with Jaheira. It had always been a dream to even consider it; something just beyond all reach, overshadowed by Irenicus and by his heritage. And a part of him had not dared to look that far ahead; had only live for the now. And the now was gone.

Thump. Thud. Clatter.

Harrian whirled around, lowering his sore and bruised firsts to see Aerie standing by a small rack of daggers that she'd knocked over. From the timid expression on her face, he realised she'd done it to get his attention. For a fleeting instant, he wondered how long she'd been there.

Harrian nodded solemnly and turned to resume his punching. "Are you leaving, then?" he asked curtly, not looking at her. Best she depart on her own life as soon as possible, instead of lingering with this tainted group of adventurers.

"There's a caravan to Waterdeep leaving this evening. I'm going with it," Aerie said falteringly. "Unless you need my services, now…?"

Harrian didn't stop in his pummelling. "Anomen's a good enough cleric for us. Imoen's a skilled mage. You should go."

"I just wonder that –"

"Go. You helped today. Now live your own life. Whatever kept you here – a debt, a bond, a sense of honour – consider it ended. You've repaid your debt, do not need to remain here to consider there to be a bond between us, and honour is not something to die for. Go." Harrian still didn't look around.

He heard Aerie pause, then tentatively head for the stairs. "I… I'm sorry," she said at last. "And… good luck, Harrian. May the Gods watch over you."

He didn't answer, and only paused in his beating when he heard her head up the stairs. They haven't been watching very much lately…

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He didn't know what time it was, didn't know how long he'd been there, didn't know when he would leave. That all seemed to be irrelevant.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"You really should eat something."

Harrian paused to see Reynald, out of armour and looking freshly bathed, step up to the workbench on Harrian's right to set down a plate of bread and beef, and a tankard of something.

"Why? Eating's for the living," Harrian said, resuming his punching. Reynald didn't answer.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"You're doing it all wrong, clenching your fist like that. You're just going to break a finger that way," Reynald told him at last, giving his fighting stance a critical glance.

"That'll heal."

"Not soon. Anomen's gone back with Imoen to the cemetery, and we still have to stock up on potions."

"Then I'll survive until either Anomen gets back or it sorts itself out."

Reynald grimaced a little. "What's possessed you to do this, anyway?" he asked at last. "You strike me as a man who relies on wits and skill rather than brute strength. I wouldn't have thought you to use a punching bag to hone your abilities."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"It's something Khalid always used to get me to do when we first started out on the road," Harrian explained at last.

"Khalid?"

"Jaheira's husband." Reynald nodded, wearing an expression of realisation. It seemed that Khalid's existence was not news to him. "He taught me how to fight. Jaheira taught me how to think. Montaron taught me how to steal. Xzar taught me what not to do. Dynaheir taught me self-discipline – maybe a little badly."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Kivan taught me that revenge can be hollow. Shar-Teel taught me that hatred gives you strength. Viconia taught me that cynicism keeps you alive. Ajantis taught me that the dictates of honour can be more destructive than empowering."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"These are fellows I met up north. Not all grand, upstanding members of society, but warriors with their own moral code – well, maybe not Montaron and Xzar – and with a role to play in life. They're all dead now." Harrian chuckled humourlessly. "I even killed Ajantis myself, at a time when I thought he was free of me forever."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"It's ironic, really. All of these people, these people that taught me something before Irenicus, who helped me in the past, are dead. Or, in the case of Imoen and Minsc, are still bound to me by something. The only exception is Edwin, who's alive and well somewhere else… and didn't actually help or teach me anything in the first place." Again, the cold chuckle. "And they call me crazy when I get concerned about those around me dropping death. I'm a son of murder. Death is all people get from me."

Thump. Thud.

The sandbag had, after repeated beating on a thick but slightly rotting rope, finally given in and fell to the floor at Harrian's final punch, the bag splitting and depositing its faintly stinking contents across the cold stone floor.

Harrian ignored it, turning to Reynald, who was looking faintly concerned. "So do not think, Reynald de Chatillon, that this is a home of upright adventurers who will guide you on the right path to redemption and justice. This is a home of death. Any redemption along the way is… temporary."

"All things are temporary if we hold death as the ultimate ending," Reynald said coolly, his expression calming a little as he himself bit into the crust of bread he'd brought, seeing that Harrian was very uninterested. "I currently have nothing to live for, Lord Corias. So if in your company death is guaranteed and redemption a possibility along the way, there is no better place for me to be."

Harrian snorted and started to pace slowly. "If you accept that, then so be it. There are currently forces at work that are greater than we are, and we must but follow them. I still have a task to do. And I shall welcome that assistance. But… we are not fame and fortune seekers." He spat on the floor, shaking his head. "And don't call me Lord Corias. I'm no damned lord."

"I never considered this party to be of the frivolous ilk that frequent taverns, Harrian," Reynald replied without missing a beat. "But people change when they are in your company. And often for the better. And if they meet death at your side… well, we all meet death someday. Yes, you live a dangerous life, because of your heritage. But we choose to run that risk. You may not be able to accept it, Harrian Corias, but there is a light within you that causes people to stand by your side and face death over and over."

Harrian snorted again. "I know there is. It's called death's lantern."

Reynald paused, obviously a little stuck by this answer. "I doubt it is as simple as that. You cannot shoulder the blame for everyone who falls behind. At the very least, it's arrogant. None of these people are bound to you by anything except friendship. If they die, it is for friendship. Where is the darkness in that?" Harrian finally fell silent, and Reynald took advantage of the moment to pass him the plate of food. "It is not your fault that they have died. It is not your fault that she has died."

Harrian swallowed hard, then grimaced and took a large bite of the slice of beef. "She died for my cause."

"You might argue that she died for her own. I have spoken with Imoen and the others; I know of your history," Reynald said simply. "You could say she travelled so far with you because of her promise to your father. You could say she travelled so far with you because of her desire to avenge her husband. Or she travelled so far with you because of her love for you."

Harrian remained silent, chewing and staring at the wall.

"So, you see, there are many forces at work here. Mostly love, in its different forms. There is no more darkness in these deaths than there needs to be – and there is already plenty. But you shoulder responsibility where there is none." Reynald's expression hardened. "Responsibility comes when it is your fault. Responsibility comes when you could have changed things to stop death from happening. Responsibility comes when the death is at your own hands."

Harrian paused, and gave Reynald a contemplative look. "You know of this responsibility." It wasn't a question.

Reynald paused for a long moment, and then stepped towards the weapons rack on the far side of the cellar – where their more expensive, valuable and dangerous weaponry was kept. The great rack with the swords was his target, and it was Carsomyr, the Holy Avenger, he headed to.

"That responsibility took away my light," Reynald said quietly, in a whisper that could only be heard because of the echoes in the cellar. He raised his hand tentatively, and slowly closed it around the hilt of Carsomyr.

When the others had tried to do that, they had been able to carry the sword a little – for transportation only – but it had been so heavy when held in an aggressive pose that to wield it effectively would have been impossible. That was to be expected for a sword that demanded that only a paladin wield it, and they had only ever seen it moved through a swing by Keldorn.

Never before had the hilt burned the hand of he who grasped it, but it did with Reynald as it sizzled and smoke rose. No pain seemed to cross his face for the few seconds he gripped the great sword, but when he finally withdrew his hand, it was red and sore.

"Have you ever done such that a sword which allows you to wield it based on your righteousness goes so far as to burn you, Harrian Corias?" Reynald asked coolly, calmly sticking his hand in the pail of water next to the rack which was collecting a leak dripping from the ceiling above.

"Well, it doesn't judge you on your righteousness, it judges you on whether or not you are a paladin… which you're not. And I'm not either," Harrian said hesitantly at last.

"No. In fact, I am so much not a paladin that not only does this sword not allow me to use it, it repels me. That is quite a feat of darkness." Reynald wrapped a cleaning cloth around his raw hand, and stepped towards the thief. "How many actions have you taken that are truly dark, Harrian?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I… don't know. I like to think that I'm a moral man. I try not to kill when it is unnecessary." Was Ployer unnecessary?

"Then do not pretend to be a creature of darkness when you stand next to a man who has killed unnecessarily; who has gone so far in his sins that his god has rejected him and cast him out of favour," Reynald said quietly, with more sadness than bitterness, as he leant against the worktable next to Harrian.

The thief considered this. "I have not yet asked you what you did to Fall."

"This is true," Reynald agreed. "And now might be a wise time." Harrian threw him a look, and he took a deep, almost painful-sounding breath. "I don't know if I was ever a righteous man. I think I was a good man, but I was more good because it was… what I did, rather than that I believed it. I followed the tenets of the Order, I did as they bid, and I lived as I supposed I should." He paused. "Did that make me a good man?"

"It didn't make you a bad one. Actions can be as much as intent," Harrian replied calmly.

"I suppose." Reynald waved his hand dismissively. "But, anyhow, I did all that was required of me, including going to the various balls and parties to which we knights were invited. One such party was at the house of the Count Duchinov – do you know him?"

Harrian squirmed a little. "We've had… dealings with him."

"A snake of a man, but he has influence so the Order humours him as long as he does not step out of line. Anyhow, I always found the balls to be dull and insipid. Until I met Celestine." Reynald gave a very pained version of the lover's sigh. "And she was… a breath of fresh air into my otherwise dull life. I knew little of her at first, but she seemed to see in me something that was worth pursuing, or so I thought. We danced, we talked, but when rumours filtered through the guests that Duchinov had been robbed, she seemed to disappear. I thought nothing of it at the time… though I suppose it was of her doing."

Harrian shifted uncomfortably.

"Anyhow, I then left promptly. I kept thinking about her, however – she plagued my thoughts, and had captured my heart in that night without me even realising it. So when, two days later, she appeared at the next ball, I was overjoyed." A sad smile crossed Reynald's face.

"We became, I suppose, a courting couple for some weeks, going to the various balls together, and for once I had something in life I could be, finally… passionate about. I was, possibly… even happy. But it did not last.

"She was a part of a small group of independent thieves, who did the dangerous business of operating under the Shadow Thieves' nose without their consent. And so, she visited the balls of the nobles of Athkatla, and when she was there she unlocked doors, opened windows, bribed guards… in various ways made it possible for her fellows to sneak in and steal what they could." Reynald covered his eyes. "And thus did I become a tool."

"You were cast out of the Order and rejected by Torm for being manipulated by the cunning? They are harsh taskmasters," Harrian commented, frowning.

"It was not my manipulation that felled me!" Reynald snapped, and Harrian jumped a little at the sight of the first strong emotion from the former paladin. "It was my actions when I discovered it." He paused, taking a few more calming breaths. "Finally, I was invited to the house of Jysstev by the lord, who is a friend of my family's. He told me to bring that charming lady he had met so many times at balls, and so, like a fool I did.

"She managed to sneak away from the dinner party, and for once I actually noticed she was gone. She had professed to be a little under the weather that night, so, in concern, I followed her. In time to find her in the kitchens, with the back door open, surrounded by a group of rogues.

"I was stunned, too surprised to move, not knowing what to think, and so it was easy for one of the rogues to knock me out. When Lord Jysstev brought me back to consciousness, the rogues were gone, and so was Celestine – in my ignorance, I assumed that they had kidnapped her. It did not cross my mind that stealing riches from nobles is a very different form of law-breaking to kidnapping." He gave Harrian a small, benevolent smile, which the Bhaalspawn thief returned slightly.

"So I tried to hunt down these rogues. I was fortunately aided by Duchinov, whose 'handyman' was able to find me their location – a run-down building in the Slums. They were wealthy, but would not spend money in Athkatla for fear of alerting the Shadow Thieves. I believe they were planning to move on to somewhere else to spend their riches very shortly. But I knew where they were. And I went alone.

"I went with my sword and my armour and my rage… and nothing else. And when I opened the door, and saw the rogues seated around the table with no sign of my Celestine, I attacked them. Their weapons were not at hand, they were not warriors who would be a match for an armed, trained, and angry knight, and so I… cut them down instantly. Instantly. And when, seconds later, Celestine emerged from a side door dressed as they were, and plainly not being held against her will… I almost killed her too." Reynald lowered his head, covering his eyes as his shoulders shook a little. "I held my anger, however. I held it enough for her to stare, and scream, and run to her companions. And then I held it enough to let her leave."

Harrian waited, but it seemed Reynald had little more to say after this. "You killed them, thinking that they were… kidnappers and murderers," he said at last.

Reynald looked up. "But they were not. Does my ignorance pardon my behaviour? I could have, I suppose, sought forgiveness from Torm, but I did not. I promptly fell in with Anarg and his men, and then carried on to shun my god as he shunned me." He shook his head. "I did not do what a paladin should have done. A paladin should have alerted the guard, or at least the Order, and marched in with a clear head. A paladin should not have struck down in anger those unable to defend themselves. A paladin should not have passed judgement when the whole picture, or even that beyond a small corner of it, was available. I did all those things. I murdered six men whose only crime was the theft of small riches from those wealthy enough to not even notice they had been robbed. And you think I do not deserve to be a Fallen Paladin?"

Harrian sat down on the workbench and took a swig from the tankard. Black Ale. He passed it to Reynald. "You made a mistake. A big one, for sure."

"And one I shall atone for," Reynald said calmly, also sipping from the tankard. "So, you see, Harrian Corias, you are not responsible for those who fall. They fall because they fight with you, truly. But they have chosen to fight for you. Because they see the light within you. I see that light, and I know it is not death's lantern… because I know what death's lantern looks like."

Harrian stared at the floor for a few long moments before nodding. "I… very well, Reynald de Chatillon," he said at last, his voice thick.

The Fallen Paladin stood up and clapped him on the back. "And Celestine may not be actually dead… but she might as well be, to me, for she is lost forever and I am forced to see that my love was a mockery. You have lost your love as well… but revel in what you had, and know that it was true."

Harrian closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall slowly. "It was true, I know. And that is why it hurts so very much."


	140. Ray of Hope

**Chapter 140: Ray of Hope**

"You don't have to be here, you know," Anomen said gently as he saw Imoen shiver slightly when they walked into the final chamber of Bodhi's crypts. The room, and all the rooms before it, were crawling with priests and paladins who were purging the place of all evil, and it seemed as if they had started with this final one. The blood and bodies were cleared, and by the entrance of one of the side rooms, a group of scholars from the Order was poring over some of the artefacts and large, hefty volumes that had been stored there.

"I know. I just… I feel I should." Imoen took a deep breath of the musty air and closed her eyes. Technically, they had no reason to be here – the Order could deal with it all quite suitably – and they were even finished in any sort of supervision of the clearing of the crypts. But they had wordlessly headed for this final chamber, though why Anomen couldn't say.

"I keep thinking that I'll feel her. At any moment," the pink-haired mage continued. "I mean… I feel like me. I feel more like me than I have in months, and that's both wonderful and terrible. But at the same time, there's this sort of darkness hanging around the edges… and I don't know if it's actually there, or if it's just me being afraid of it being there."

Anomen's eyes flitted around the room cautiously. "Then maybe this is not the best place to be, my lady," he suggested, frowning a very little. "We can get back to the estate at any time…"

She shook her head. "No. This is the perfect place to be. If I'll feel anything of… of her… I'll feel it here. A memory, a warmth, a scent, or something… there'll be something of her." She opened her eyes and looked around the room cautiously.

Anomen shifted his feet. "Anything?"

A thin smile crossed Imoen's face. "No. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway… this was… his workshop. Where he took mine and Harrian's souls..." She started to walk about slowly. "But it looks so different now that the only memories I have of this place are of today."

"I fear those memories are quite dark enough as it is." It was Anomen's turn to shiver. He could remember all too well what had happened in this room, today, and before. The vicious parallels. A soul had been taken from one being and given to another, and someone had died under a comrade's blade. Different, and yet… similarly painful.

Imoen glanced over at him, suddenly realising that he seemed less comfortable even than her. "Do you want to go back?" she asked at last, raising an eyebrow.

Automatically, Anomen gave an unconcerned shrug, his ego briefly refusing to let him treat the idea with anything other than disdain, however tempting it might have been. Then he paused. This was her. Imoen. He just shook his head and grimaced sheepishly. "The alternative is the estate," he said quietly. "And I am not sure I am up to facing Harrian at this moment."

Imoen nodded, looking away again quickly. "I feel sorry for Reynald, Minsc and Aerie. And I feel sorry for Harrian, of course." She sighed deeply. "I just… I can't believe she's gone. She was always… stronger than that. Stronger than any of us. Ever since the beginning, it's been…" Imoen closed her eyes again, and Anomen, even though he was a little self-conscious and painfully aware of the scholars in the corner, stepped up to grip her shoulder lightly.

"Ever since the beginning, she's been there. She made us grow up. She was like a mother, big sister, and friend all at once." It was Imoen's turn to try and shrug nonchalantly. "Well, to me, at least. To Harrian, she was more the friend; he had Khalid to play mentor. Which, considering, is just as well…" Imoen smiled a thin smile, evidently thinking the sort of thoughts which, under happier circumstances, would have caused laughter. Now they caused tears to come to her eyes, which she tried to blink away quickly and a little unsuccessfully.

"My lady…" Anomen moved around to face her, biting his lower lip as his mind raced futilely for some words of comfort.

"I don't know whether to cry my eyes out or stand up and laugh and dance. Everything's… louder, Anomen. Thoughts, emotions, sights, colours, sounds. The world seems more… real again. Like before was a dream, like I was flailing in wool before. And whilst that's wonderful, it's also terrible. I don't know if I should be celebrating Bodhi's defeat, laughing about having my soul back, or crying my eyes out over Jaheira…"

Taking a deep breath and resolving not to look at the scholars – though it didn't occur to him that they'd be more interested in their books anyway – Anomen pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "Very few victories are entirely happy. All have some price. But we won. You have to remember that. We won."

"I think Harrian would have preferred to lose," Imoen's voice, muffled by his chest, came back.

"No. He knows that we have to go on. It's not even about Irenicus anymore. There are greater forces at work. There's the elven city to think about now. He is a madman that must be stopped. He has brought down the darkness upon us all, and we must be the light to chase it away," Anomen said, reeling off something from the depths of his memory.

Imoen raised her head to look at him as she pulled back a little, a thin smile hovering around her lips. "You've been reading those awful books you keep in your library, haven't you," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Anomen grinned slightly and very sheepishly. "I have needed to while away the long nights some how, my lady. Though I do agree – the turgid volumes all sound as if they were written by Haer'Dalis."

"Sir Anomen?"

They turned quickly to see one of the scholars, a small man with glasses and dark receding hair, grey creeping in at the temples, standing before them. He was clutching one of the books that he and his fellows had been examining intently since they'd arrived.

Anomen blinked. "Yes… Rendval. It is Rendval, isn't it?"

"Yes, Rendval. I… am sorry to interrupt," the man said quickly, opening the volume and rifling through it quickly yet delicately, "but I was wondering if this would interest you." He thrust the book into Anomen's unsuspecting hands.

The cleric stared at the pages blankly for a few seconds. "What… which bit am I supposed to find intriguing?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Ah…" Rendval moved forwards, and pointed with a worn finger at a passage on the right-hand page. "It was mentioned by Sir Eric… that one of your number was vampirised and had to be slain?"

Anomen was still staring in confusion as Imoen, peeking over his shoulder, gaped, realisation evidently setting in a lot quicker for her. "Anomen… do you know what this is?"

"No," the cleric replied obtusely and a little sulkily.

Imoen grabbed the book impatiently, her eyes flitting over the words quickly. She turned the page with the speedy yet delicate skill of one who had spend much of her youth surrounded by delicate dusty volumes, then gasped and looked at Rendval. "This isn't just a myth, right?"

The scholar shook his head. "There are records in the Order's library of a great battle against the undead some decades ago, in which they detail the mass recovery of fallen knights. It is well-documented, and no myth. But the means by which it was done has been lost… until now."

Imoen turned to Anomen, who was now starting to catch up. "You… you staked Bodhi, didn't you." Her voice shook a little as she spoke, but the urgency in her eyes pushed Anomen to overlook that. "Was there… anything left? Or did she just turn to dust?"

"None of us entered her chamber," Rendval supplies helpfully.

Anomen grimaced a little. "All faded into the wind… save her black heart."

Imoen's expression became a mixture of glee and disgust. "We kinda need that heart."

"I shall find some… container for you," Rendval muttered, moving off.

"What is this for?" Anomen demanded of Imoen.

She looked at him. "You did read that page, didn't you?"

"I am not entirely capable of reading dusty volumes with tiny writing without a pair of spectacles," Anomen confessed, and it would have come out sheepishly if he hadn't decided to counter it by straightening up haughtily.

Imoen paused. "I didn't know you needed glasses."

"Only to read," Anomen retorted. "And I doubt, my lady, that you are in the habit of observing me when reading, as I tend to do it away from distractions."

"I'm a distraction?"

"What is in the volume that has you so suddenly cheery?" he asked, sighing a long-suffering sigh.

Imoen grinned, almost hopping up and down on the spot with glee. "A solution. A cure. A means of resurrection. A way to get Jaheira back."

Anomen stared for a moment, blinking in surprise. Then he took a deep breath. "All in one?"


	141. Dark Tunnel

**Chapter 141: Dark Tunnel**

The campfire crackled weakly, even as Reynald poked dying embers around the edges with the tip of his dagger. The warmth the flames had produced was fading a little, and the adventurers all drew their cloaks around their shoulders as the night chill penetrated the camp site a little more.

The mood in the party was fairly dim, despite their hopeful venture. Intensive study of the volumes the scholar Rendval had uncovered revealed that a possible way to resurrect the only partially-vampirised Jaheira required taking the heart of the vampire that had bitten her and using an altar of the god Amaunator.

Unfortunately, Amaunator was a deceased God – but not long ago, in the month of waiting for Edwin to develop a route to the Underdark, the party had travelled across Amn to the Umar Hills, where the village of Imnesvale had been under threat from an unknown source. Further investigation had revealed that a Shade Lord, leader of Shadows, had been preying on the village from nearby catacombs – catacombs which turned out to be a former temple of Amaunator. And Imoen had remembered seeing an altar there.

So they had departed early that afternoon, not planning to return to Athkatla soon – they would go to the Umar Hills and then straight to where Elhan and the rest waited, to face Suldanessellar and Irenicus, hopefully in a party six-strong.

It seemed, however, that none of them quite dared hope. Harrian's gaze was constantly locked on the flames so intently that whenever he looked away, spots appeared in front of his eyes; Minsc tended calmly to Boo; Reynald seemed deep in his own thought as he sharpened the Sword of Chaos; Anomen was packing away the pots used to cook their dinner, and even Imoen – who had been bright and cheerful, even more optimistic than Harrian when they had set off – was lost in thought, her arms wrapped around her legs as she rested her chin on her knees, a slightly pensive frown on her face. Behind them, further towards the trees, was the small, light cart they had bought, upon which rested Jaheira's body. However hopeful they were, it felt intensely morbid to be carrying a corpse across Amn.

Harrian stretched a little, breaking the silence as he grunted quietly. "We should get some sleep, and set off as soon as possible in the morning," he instructed curtly.

Anomen glanced at him. "Harrian… we had to force you to stop for the night. Let us make this a good night's rest. We shall be at the catacombs by noon tomorrow, if we leave just after dawn," he said cautiously.

"We can set off before that." Harrian fidgeted distinctly.

Reynald raised his head calmly, and the Bhaalspawn settled a little under the gaze of those cool blue eyes. "Rest, friend," the fallen paladin said quietly. "The day shall be intensive tomorrow. Let us have a calm evening, a restful night, and a solid march on the morn."

"These are hardly the best circumstances for a calm evening," Harrian responded, but amazingly less venomously than he'd directed most answers to anyone all day. Though his morbid disposition had been alleviated with Imoen's news, a depression had made way for absolutely frayed nerves, mood-swings, and an intensive drive to move as quickly as possible. He had laughed, he had thanked the Gods, he had hugged them all when he'd heard the news, but as the party hurried to get ready to depart, a dark mood had come along, and he had snapped at them repeatedly to speed up.

"A hero's life is rarely calm. Always administering the boot to evil's buttocks does not allow much rest. But when rest is available… Minsc and Boo like to make the most of it. It leaves my mind so much more at ease when battle comes," the big ranger spoke up quietly, resting with his back against a tree trunk and his eyes half-closed, Boo nestled comfortably in the palm of his big hand.

"I'm not being unreasonable. I'm just suggesting we get an early start tomorrow," Harrian said quietly.

"Yes, but by 'early start', you mean three hours after midnight," Imoen said gently. "Rest. We all need to rest. We will have an early night, but the evening is still young." She glanced around. "Think we'll need to set up a watch."

"Yes. Remember what happened last time we didn't?" Harrian said with certainty, glowering at the remains of the fire.

Silence fell upon them all again. It was an odd atmosphere; charged, worn, both frantic and weary, leaving them feeling as if they'd been run to death. It pained Harrian to think it, but he missed Haer'Dalis. The bard would always find a way to fill an evening, even if it was just by annoying everyone – annoyance was a minor issue to deal with compared to this dull, oppressive feeling that had settled.

"We need music. I suppose Haer'Dalis took his lute with him," Imoen mumbled, sulkily staring at the dying fire, and evidently thinking similar thoughts to Harrian.

Anomen, who was easing himself back down to sit next to her, shook his head. "If he did not, then it is not with us. I did not see it anywhere around the house." There was a long, taut pause again. "But then, none of us can play it."

"I can!" Imoen piped up.

Harrian gave a brief bark of laughter, then shook his head as she looked at him challengingly. "No, no… nothing…" he assured her, chuckling. "I can just easily remember the few times we thought we would try to regale the common room of Candlekeep inn with a few verses of song. Winthrop banned us from trying ever again unless there was a brawl and he wanted to clear the tavern!"

Imoen stuck her tongue out at him. "If I recall correctly, that wasn't because of my playing, but your singing."

Harrian gave another smile, which hadn't been a regular sight all day. "I will insist you had some part in it, but I concede your point." He glanced at the others – Minsc was now listening intently, and Anomen looking at them with a slightly amused expression. Only Reynald was inattentive, focused on the sharpening of his blade. "I sound like a dying cat when I sing."

Imoen chuckled. "And I can hardly string two notes together on a lute…"

"It was some dusty thing you found up in the attic which Winthrop had once used – in need of some desperate tuning!"

"Sounded fine to me!"

"We got bottles thrown at us!"

The two siblings exploded into nostalgic giggles, laughing the laugh of those who desperately need to smile, desperately need some light, desperately need an escape from the darkness. It was also the laugh which is followed by a long, painful, acute silence.

"It is the waiting Minsc hates most of all," Minsc said at last, his own, usually smooth brow wearing an uncharacteristic crease. "Evil waits… evil acts… evil is about, and yet, we can do nothing. Good must triumph, but not yet. The Good rest in their cocoons, waiting to become heroic butterflies, and until then the nectar of evil flourishes without limit."

This was also met with a silence, but a silence of a very different flavour. Then Imoen, who was giving the big ranger a rather confused look, took a deep breath. "Minsc… don't butterflies die after a week?"

"I thought we were trying to be cheerful?" Anomen wondered aloud.

"Minsc has a point, though," Harrian mused. "Well… maybe not about dying in a week. I hope. But these times are always… trying. There are things we need to do, yet right now… this is the pause. So we're more effective when we do go and fight… erm, nectar." He poked at the fire with the tip of one of his throwing knives. "Do you think elves are dying as we wander around these woods? We could be in Suldanessellar now, finding, fighting Irenicus."

"And you'd just leave Jaheira?" Imoen asked gently, knowing he was just sounding out thoughts, but guiding him along with them so they didn't take him to too dark places.

Harrian considered this for a moment, then slipped the knife back into his bandolier. "No. Of course not. I was just thinking of the 'greater good' for a moment." He shrugged, his expression twisting into a wry smirk. "Hells. We focus too much on that. We fight, and we die, and we give for the so-called greater good. Have you ever met anyone who's benefited from the greater good?"

"Well, no. But we are the fighters and givers," Anomen said, tactfully skirting around the dying part.

"Yeah. Let's live for ourselves for a bit. We've earned it," Imoen sighed, leaning back against the log she and Anomen were propped up against. Harrian didn't miss her shifting a little closer to the cleric as she did so, and felt a brief pang. But no. He had to hope.

"We could buy a lute," the pink-haired mage continued, chewing on her lower lip. "And hire a travelling minstrel to run around behind us as we travel."

"No. He'll probably just compose another bloody song about me," Harrian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"_The minstrel boy to the war has gone,  
In the ranks of death you'll find him.  
His father's sword he hath girded on,  
And his wild harp slung behind him.  
  
'Land of Song!' cried the warrior bard,  
'Tho' all the world betrays thee,  
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,  
One faithful harp shall praise thee!'_

_The minstrel fell, but the foeman's chain  
Could not bring that proud soul under.  
The harp he loved ne'er spoke again,  
For he tore it's chords asunder.  
  
And said "'No chains shall sully thee,  
Thou soul of love and bravery!  
Thy songs were made for the pure and free  
They shall never sound in slavery!'_"

One more long pause fell upon them, and all eyes slowly turned towards Reynald, who had not looked up from sharpening his sword even as he sung in a low voice, in a voice where his usually educated accent had made way for a sharper northern twang. He was showing no signs of acknowledging his sudden actions or their response to it.

"I did not know you sang, Reynald," Anomen said at length, looking surprised.

"Buy a lute and I shall play it," the fallen paladin responded dryly, glancing up slightly. "No, I am no bard – though I suppose I could be, as I do not know _what _I am anymore. But I am a man who likes music." A wry smile crossed his face. "Besides, I was afraid our fearless leader would eventually try to sing to cheer us up, and from his recent accounting of his singing abilities, I did rather want to stave that off."

"Where'd you learn that?" Imoen asked, similarly thunderstruck. "I only ever heard it in that tavern up at Ulgoth's Beard. Never this far south."

"You forget, we knights… we wander." Reynald slowly stopped sharpening his sword, and sheathed it smoothly before glancing at Harrian. "And now you are calm, your minds empty, this might be a good time to get that slumber our fearless leader spoke so often of."

Harrian nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. "Why that song?" he asked at last, even as he gestured to the others and stood up himself. "It's not the most cheerful of ditties I've ever heard."

"I do not encourage mindless cheer," Reynald replied, smirking a very little as he clambered to his feet. "But I thought the ballad fitting. Fighting, losing, and yet not quite being defeated? It is the sort of thinking I feel we should be currently encouraging."


	142. Light at the End

**Chapter 142: Light at the End**

Harrian peered through the gloom of the Umar Hills catacombs, holding a flaming torch in his left hand which cast erratic shadows down the stairs and around the corridors at the bottom. The rest of the party waited behind him, looking anxiously over his shoulder at the darkness. Last time they had been there, they had been battling through shadows and skeletons, avoiding pain and death. Now they were here to once again avoid pain and death, but battling a rather different foe.

The Bhaalspawn took a deep breath, then glanced over his shoulder at the others. "Well," he said, frowning a very little. There was a pause. "Well."

"I doubt there are spiders down there, Harrian," Imoen told him, giving her brother a wry yet encouraging look. "If there are, they're probably normal-sized."

He gave her a look. "It's not them I'm worried about," Harrian mumbled, facing the darkness and closing his eyes. He wasn't sure he dared step any further, dared face this hope. Hope was the only thing that had picked him up off the cellar floor. If hope faded… he didn't know what he'd do. He didn't even know if he'd be able to make it to Suldanessellar.

_No. I will. Because Irenicus shall pay._

"Do you want us to go with you?" Anomen asked falteringly. The expression on his face made it quite clear that he wanted to do nothing other than stay put and avoid going into the darkness. Besides, Harrian wasn't sure he wanted company on this anyway.

"No," he said at last, taking a deep breath and passing his torch to Imoen. "I shall do this alone." Bodhi's heart was in his pack, contained in a box Rendval had supplied, and Jaheira's body still rested on the small cart. It had seemed somewhat… childish to be pulling a tiny cart along the great roads of Amn, but Minsc had advised against horses to make their way to the catacombs.

Harrian stepped over to the cart, and reached down to gather Jaheira in his arms. Normally, he would not have stood a chance of being able to carry her and his gear as far as it was to the alter without falling over, but the Girdle of Hill Giant Strength they had bartered off Ribald made it somewhat possible. Harrian didn't want to have to do this with Minsc carrying Jaheira behind him.

"Good luck," Reynald said grimly as Harrian moved back towards the entrance. "If the Gods deem it shall be so, then you shall be reunited."

"Damn the Gods. I'm not doing this to stroke their egos," was Harrian's curt reply as the swashbuckler turned and descended into the gloom. _Though, almighty guys, you know I don't **really **mean it, and any possible touch of luck you might have floating around and feel like throwing my way would be appreciated_, he amended mentally, eyes shifting skywards for a moment.

He couldn't carry Jaheira _and _a torch, so his progress through the corridors was slow. He knew them after the three days they had spent underground, fighting through to get to the Shade Lord in the company of the halfling Mazzy Fentan – who had then returned to her home of Trademeet once they were done. The armour Harrian wore was made from the scales of the Shade Lord's pet, a formidable Shadow Dragon that had cudgelled them rather well before falling. And on the way, there had been that statue of Amaunator. A dead God in whom Harrian was now placing all the faith he'd ever been able to muster for a deity.

Harrian didn't know exactly _how _it would work – had only been given a brief, frazzled explanation from Anomen and slightly lengthier but purely practical instructions from Imoen on the way to the Hills. It seemed it would be using the remaining essence of the dead God, whose temple had been overrun by beasts of darkness, to chase away the contamination of vampirism from Jaheira and return her to the living.

If it worked. And, as far as Harrian was concerned, this was a very big _if_. Under normal circumstances he would have dismissed the claims, the 'evidence', as myth and fairy tale. But now… now he couldn't afford to. Not if he wanted the strength to carry on. Reynald might have been right – it might not have been his own fault if so many of his comrades had died. But, responsible or not, they _had _died. All around him, died. And if Jaheira was lost forever, then that was… too much. Too high a price. Too much paid for fighting by his side.

The boon of strength from the girdle meant that he could move freely, and his natural agility allowed him to hop across the lettered floor, jumping from paving stone to paving stone to make his way across the large chamber he had finally come to.

_A… M… A… U… N… A… T… O… R… Don't miss, avoid the balls of fire that try to incinerate you…_

The altar was, Harrian had thought then and believed now, a fairly pathetic sort of affair. A dusty slab with a half-hearted statue of the dead god at the head of it, he had not given it much consideration when they had visited here first. In fact, he wouldn't have known what Imoen was talking about if he hadn't remembered taking the part of the sun stone from the altar to allow them to proceed through the door at the end of the catacombs. But now… now all his hopes rested on it.

He gently lay Jaheira's body on the slab, then stroked her cold cheek – so cold it was disturbing, cold with death and the curse of the undead – before straightening up. He deposited his heavy pack on the floor, then rooted through it to pull out the small casket that contained Bodhi's black heart. He hadn't even known vampires _had _hearts left to be black.

Harrian set the casket down on the edge of the altar and flipped it open, grimacing. He wasn't _entirely _sure what he was supposed to do with it, other than use it in the process.

He paused, then looked up at the statue of Amaunator. "Well?" he murmured, frowning. "You're the god here, dead or not. What am I supposed to do for you here? I don't have a clue. A little help?"

Unsurprisingly, the statue didn't answer, merely stared back mutely, the bronze it was set in failing to respond to his words. Merely squatted above the slab of the altar without reacting, staring with its open hands looking as if they were waiting for something, not giving him any _damned _answers…

…_wait a second, fool. **Think**…_

With a little trepidation and no small amount of disgust, he reached into the casket and pulled out the black heart. A little cold blood still oozed from it and dripped from his fingers onto the stone floor. He wasted no time in depositing it in the statue's outstretched hands.

And nothing happened. At all. He was just sitting in a cold temple, with a dead body on an altar in front of him and a squatting bronze statue holding an oozing black heart of a vampire!

Harrian swore, and threw the casket at the opposite wall. "Do _something_, you bastards!" he screamed, first at the statue, then at the ceiling. "Or is this your idea of a joke? Dangle the carrot in front of the Bhaalspawn, see how far he'll go, and then hit him with the damned stick! You're all enjoying some bloody cosmic joke at my expense, aren't you!"

He sighed, sagging against the wall and closing his eyes. "I need her. This isn't… isn't like the others I've lost. They matter. You bastards, you _know _they mattered to me, and those with me now… Anomen, Imoen, Minsc… they still matter." Harrian took a deep, shuddering breath, then looked over at Jaheira. "But not like she matters. She held me up in the early years and has never stopped doing so. Without her, you _have _no Bhaalspawn to hit with a stick! I need her! Give me this one damned boon!"

_Hope. Just hope. Cling to hope. **Hope**._

Harrian stepped forwards slowly, then moved to kneel by the altar. He reached up and took her cool hand, resolutely not looking at her face, and bowed his head, his lips moving inaudibly. He was hardly aware of what he was saying. A prayer, of sorts – but not to a god. To anyone who could listen, any who had stood by his side and fallen. To Gorion, to Khalid, to Dynaheir… to someone. For _something_.

Another ragged breath cut through the silence, and Harrian realised with a start that it was not his own. The hand he gripped twitched a little, and as the thief half-rose, sluggish with amazement, what greeted him was not what he expected.

His nose exploded into pain as Jaheira's free hand swung round to whack him with the base of the palm solidly, even as the druid sat up abruptly. "Back, you beast…! I shall not… not…"

Harrian staggered back, half-blinded and quite sure his nose had been broken. He hit the wall with a thud, raising his hand to staunch the flow of blood, a little oblivious to the fact that his efforts had been successful in the face of immense pain, blood, and blindness.

Jaheira blinked rapidly, her breath still coming in gasps, clearly disconcerted. She came to a slow halt, visibly calming down, her eyes roving all over the small temple within the catacombs, apparently recognising where she was. She swung her legs over the side of the altar and stared at her hands numbly. It was a long moment before she realised he was there. "_Harrian_? What is going on?"

"Hello Jaheira… Glad to see you back in one piece," Harrian said. Or he tried to say that. It probably came out a lot more muffled, with a lot more d's thrown in and in a far less dashing and debonair way than he'd rather intended.

"I… did I do that?" The druid hopped to her feet slowly, hesitating for a minute to test her footing, then stepped forward and raised her hands to his face, pushing his hand away and pulling his head around to he was looking at her straight on. "I… am sorry… I… what _has _happened?"

Harrian paused as she murmured an incantation under her breath – evidently her druidic powers were intact – and a cool healing light engulfed the pain in his nose. He paused for a few seconds, gingerly mopping up the blood around his mouth and chin with his sleeve, gathering his thoughts and revelling in the simple pleasure her touch gave. "I… you died," he whispered, looking deeply into her green-grey eyes. "Bodhi took you… half-turned you… I had to kill you…"

Jaheira blinked. "I see," she said, frowning a little, evidently still reeling a little too much from resurrection to completely assimilate this information. "And so… if I am back, then why did you need to cast a Resurrection Spell in the Amaunator temple." There was another pause. "You can't cast that, _or _Raise Dead."

"No… and that wouldn't have worked on you," Harrian murmured, gingerly touching his nose before closing his hand around hers again. "You were… gone. Until Imoen found something in one of Bodhi's books on returning you to life, free of the vampirism…" He glanced away, taking a deep breath. "We… I didn't know if it would even work until now."

"Bodhi is dead?" Jaheira pressed, squeezing his hand gently. "Imoen has her soul back? The others are all well? We have the Rhynn Lanthorn?"

"Yes, to all questions," Harrian said wryly, an unstoppable smile tugging at his lips.

Concern flashed in her eyes. "_You _are alright?"

"I am now," he replied honestly. "It _has _been hell. But now… now that doesn't matter. You're back." Harrian closed his eyes briefly, resting his forehead against hers. He was only slightly taller than she was, not a particularly broad-shouldered or bulky man, and she was probably a better warrior than he was. Without the girdle, there was no way he would have been able to carry her to the altar.

"Irenicus is still out there. Suldanessellar still needs saving. But now… well…" He opened his eyes to look at her intently. "Now, I may just have a hope in all the Hells of having the strength to deal with all of that."


	143. Wild Card

**Chapter 143: Wild Card**

"Do not go to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes," Harrian mumbled under his breath as the party weaved its way through the woods towards where they knew Elhan's camp to be. "Where'd I hear that? Somewhere. But it's really quite true."

Jaheira gave him a sideways glance which made it quite clear that being dead for a period of time hadn't softened her around the edges. "You have not even asked them anything yet."

"But they'll be evasive. Whatever Bodhi was going on about… we need to know," Harrian reasoned, scrambling through the undergrowth Minsc and Jaheira glided through. He had always been more at ease in a city than in the depths of nature.

"Bodhi was an immoral undead being who was doing everything in her power to distract and aggravate you," Anomen said, shaking his head. He, too, was finding the undergrowth to be something of a challenge to navigate, and his normally pristine armour was smeared with dirt and grass-stains. "She doubtless wanted you to go on and question Elhan and the other elves."

"No. She expected us all to die at her hands. Bodhi… wouldn't have come up with a backup plan in case of failure. She refused to acknowledge that losing the battle was a possibility. She had no reason to lie," Imoen said quietly, ducking under a branch. Anomen gave her brief look which went unmissed by all except Imoen, but made no reply.

"I think her being innately evil gave her a reason to lie," Reynald commented quietly, sidestepping the branch Imoen had released a little carelessly. "However, it matters not. Why Irenicus and Bodhi are attacking Suldanessellar is not as important as the fact that we must stop such destruction, no?" The Fallen Paladin gave Harrian a cautious glance, evidently waiting for his opinion.

"Well, I'm not about to abandon the elves for whatever they may have done. I refuse to believe that a people could bring this level of death and destruction upon themselves and be getting what they deserve. But I want answers." Harrian grimaced. "Irenicus knows me. He holds all the cards in this game. I seem to learn information as he wishes me to. I know he needs my soul to sustain him. But _why_? And why Suldanessellar?" His shoulders rose and fell with the deep, faltering breath he drew. "No, it doesn't _really _matter. But I want to know. I want answers."

"So we ask the elves," Jaheira prompted as the party emerged from the trees to the clearing where elven warriors and war mages could be seen milling about the tents.

"If they give us answers."

"Answers," a cool voice rang across the campsite, "come to those who ask questions. Though I do wonder if we have the time to exchange inquiries, curiosities, information and explanations. The city weakens as we speak." Elhan stepped from out of the tent nearest to them, making Harrian jump a little, and folded his arms across his chest, staring at them coolly. "You have the Rhynn Lanthorn?"

Harrian nodded in return, pulling his pack from his bag and rifling through it quickly before he pulled out the elven lantern. "Hard-earned, with many deaths to its name, but here. Bodhi and her vampires have been eliminated." _Eliminated. Gods, man, you sound like a Shadow Thief assassin_.

At last, Elhan's expression shifted from merely a cold lack of emotion, and his eyes lit up as a slow, genuine smile crossed his face. "You have it?" he said incredulously, stepping forward to reverentially take hold of the Lanthorn. "By the Seldarine! This is quite something indeed." The elven captain raised his eyes to regard the party. "Return to the city is now possible."

"Aye," Harrian agreed slowly, his brow furrowing. "But first I have a few questions." He noted Elhan stiffening, as if this was something he'd been apprehensive of all along. "I want to know why Irenicus is here, attacking Suldanessellar. I want to know exactly why Bodhi thought you are hiding something from me – and I want to know what that something is."

Elhan seemed to consider this for a moment, stroking his chin as he gripped the Lanthorn. "You hunt Irenicus, and I do not ask why. Why should we elaborate any further? Let us not ask questions, for answers merely complicate matters unnecessarily. Just think of the city." He moved to turn and walk towards where his war mages were assembled.

Harrian grabbed him by the shoulder, as unthreateningly as possible, and pulled him back to face him. "I am a Bhaalspawn," he hissed, his voice low and urgent. "Son of a God, divine essence and all. Irenicus has stolen my soul, though I know not why." Elhan began to look a little sick. "Am I foolish to assume that it has something to do with your city? Have I been caught in the middle of elven power games?"

"_He is no elf_!" Elhan snapped, smooth brow furrowing. "No _elf _would do these things!"

"That's exactly what Bodhi said to me," Harrian replied coolly. "Why would he need my soul if your city is his target?"

"He is a madman! Madmen do not _need _reasons."

"They do; they're just quite hard to understand. So far the only reason I've seen for all that I have suffered is 'because he can do it'. And I doubt soul-stealing is a hobby of his. Why my soul, why a soul with a divine essence? Why Suldanessellar? Why working in conjunction with a beast like Bodhi?" Harrian demanded.

"I do not know!"

"You are _lying_!" Harrian snapped at last, not bothering to keep his voice down. The elven warriors around them glanced up cautiously, and the party returned their cool glares easily. "You _know_, Elhan, and if you do not tell me I shall take the Rhynn Lanthorn and be on my way."

Elhan let out a brief bark of laughter, despite his sickly appearance. "There, Corias, I know you are lying. Being soulless is no joking matter, and you will not survive long in that state, just as an elf will suffer without his spirit." He straightened up. "I do not know everything there is to tell. No more than any other elf. I do not know the exact details of what happened."

"Any details would be pleasant," Imoen piped up, her expression also uncharacteristically grim.

Elhan considered this for a moment, breathing heavily. He waved a hand at the warriors around him, who had been discreetly readying weapons, then nodded slowly at the party. "Very well. But do not ask for more than this, as I do not know more.

"Jon Irenicus is not the man's true name. He was once known as Joneleth, great mage of the elven city of Suldanessellar, and consort, it is believed, of Queen Ellesime. He was one of the most powerful and admired individuals of our people. And yet… he had a darkness within him.

"I know not if it came of his own volition, or if his sister Bodhi poured sweetly poisoned words into his ear, but despite the power Joneleth had, he wanted more. And as his desire for power grew so, some believe, did his madness, until he committed the gravest offence against the elven people possible – tried to harvest the power of the Tree of Life to raise himself to the level of divinity, join the Seldarine."

There was a long pause as Elhan looked away, the words seeming to pain him, and the party waited in silence before he continued. "The attempt failed, but shook the city to its very core. That one of our own would do this… one we had considered to be so great and admirable… was hard to believe. You, as an outsider, cannot possibly understand how terrible what he did was," he said to Harrian.

"I can guess," the thief answered coolly, even though his face was sympathetic.

"So he had to be punished. Some proposed putting Joneleth to death, but the Queen would not have it. There had to be some… lingering affection for him, as she could not order her love, whatever he had done, to be killed. And so she called upon her link with the Seldarine, asked them to strip Joneleth and his sister Bodhi of their elven spirit and elven nature, and had them cast out of Suldanessellar, supposedly forever." Elhan looked back at the party, meeting their gazes unfalteringly. "And so Joneleth died and Jon Irenicus was born. Irenicus meaning 'Shattered One'."

He shrugged. "I know not how the Exile survived all these years, or what he did. It is clear that Bodhi turned to vampirism to stay alive, though I could not see Joneleth doing so. But he has been biding his time, and has now returned."

"To finish what he started," Jaheira concluded quietly.

"Indeed. And with a divine soul to sustain him until then," Elhan said grimly.

Harrian considered all of this for a long moment. "So these are the imprecise details you had pieced together, then?" he asked wryly.

Elhan's expression cleared a little, though his eyes remained dark. "It is not something we elves like to discuss. But if we require your assistance… then it is only fair that we explain what for. Our mistakes are coming back to haunt us, and we need to end this chapter of history forever."

"I'm just here to get my soul back," Harrian said quietly. "But the destruction of a city and a people cannot be allowed." He nodded slowly. "I shall stop Irenicus."

"Excellent." Elhan smiled thinly, then clapped the Bhaalspawn on the back. "Come, Corias," he declared at last, hefting the Rhynn Lanthorn and taking a few steps forwards. "Let us give this lantern to my war mages and see what they can make of it to speed our journey to the forest city!"


	144. Pledges

**Chapter 144: Pledges**

Harrian jumped as the outstretched hands of the elven statue shifted noiselessly and closed around the stone harp he held out to it. He couldn't say he was entirely used to statues moving and grabbing other stone things, but somehow he'd imagined, if it was going to happen, it would happen with a lot of fuss and a lot of noise, and certainly not as a smooth, silent motion.

"Very well," he mumbled under his breath. His heart was racing, and not only from the jump of the moving statue. Even after from the first one taking the horn, it had still surprised him – possibly due to some sort of inherent refusal to believe certain things, even with all he had seen in the past. Moving statues, when there wasn't a mage to make them turn and attack you, left him rather put out. As did being about to descend to the Tree of Life where Irenicus waited.

"Is this supposed to change something?" Reynald muttered, gripping his sword impatiently and swinging it a little, the others similarly shifting behind him. Patience was not a virtue the party had in abundance, especially under these severe conditions.

Their arrival at Suldanessellar had been a turbulent one, for they had been greeted with such cheerful sights as adamantine golems and a horde of drow. With the assistance of the elven warriors, the attacking forces had been defeated after long, hard, urban warfare, and yet the task had not been completed. Irenicus was, Elhan claimed, already within the Tree of Life, Ellesime his prisoner, and the only way to the Tree of Life was through the palace. Irenicus had done his best to seal his way behind him, however, leaving the various keys – which came in all sorts of shapes and forms – on certain members of his pets in his wake. This had included a battle with the party's third dragon, which had succeeded at almost killing Anomen when the cleric had been too slow to dodge a massive, clawed foot. Only a well-aimed magic missile to the eye from Imoen had blinded and enraged the beast enough for it to miss Anomen and for Reynald to launch forwards with a lucky blow through the skull that had felled it.

As such, they had been able to penetrate the gate to the palace, and the only challenge left to bar their way to the Tree of Life was accessing the stairway down. Nobody, not even Elhan, had known exactly how to do it, and it was only when Imoen had pointed out that the two statues by the entrance seemed to have empty hands and had linked it to the two stone instruments they had merely considered to be odd elven mantelpiece decorations that anyone had been able to work out how to proceed.

The statues seemed to have accepted the pieces, too, and after a few seconds of confused waiting, a haunting sound reached Harrian's ears. It took him a few more moments to realise that it was coming from the horn that had he had placed in the hands of the first statue earlier, and the mournful note was shortly followed by the plucking of harp strings. Neither statue moved an inch.

"I think…"

Harrian's voice was cut off as the ground beneath them shuddered slightly, as it was prone to doing whenever they triggered something in a place like this which would cause some major architectural shifts. He moved his feet to maintain balance, noticed Jaheira leaning against the wall briefly, saw Minsc and Reynald staggering for a little, and grinned as Imoen steadied Anomen.

Once the shuddering stopped, the great fountain before them, which they had thought to be nothing more than a pleasant interior decoration, was gone. In its place was a long stone stairway leading to darkness. And, Harrian reasoned, thinking about what would lie beyond, death.

This was it. Down those steps would be the Tree of Life, where Irenicus was standing, ready to fight, not willing to relinquish Harrian's soul until it was pried out of his cold, dead body – figuratively speaking, the thief hoped. The mage still had to think himself invincible, having brought the elven city almost to its knees. He could hardly think Harrian to be a threat.

Which was something the Bhaalspawn was sure he could use to his advantage. Irenicus would not think him to be a threat, would not think he was coming to fight. The elves had fallen in all frontal assaults, all forms of typical battle where they were decimated upon the initial charge, their war-mages unable to back them up.

But Harrian's strength was not in his initial charge. And he would not see his friends decimated with such a tactic.

He walked to the first step on the stairway before turning to face them slowly. "Down there… he must be down there. This is it. The final battle." Harrian's face twisted. There was a part of him that was demanding that he go on alone, face Irenicus alone, and it wasn't just out of concern for his companions. He was a Son of Bhaal… and he was ready to face this foe that had challenged him. But would they accept that?

"You have followed me this far, fought by my side for so long. I cannot ask you to go any further. Any oaths of allegiance, any vows of friendship, any personal goals… can be set aside here. The elven city is safe. This is well and truly my battle, and my battle alone. You need not –"

"Harrian." Jaheira looked at him, her eyes flashing dangerously as she raised her hands to unsheathe the twin scimitars strapped to her back. "Do not ask us to not follow you, as you know we shall. You know we cannot let you go on alone." She stepped forwards slowly. "Irenicus has much to pay for. You are not the only one he has hurt." Her expression hardened, and he felt as if her eyes, still filled with anger, were piercing into him. "Khalid's death shall be avenged. And I shall see it, if not do it, myself."

Imoen grinned broadly. "She's right, you know," the pink-haired mage told Harrian, bounding forward and patting him on the shoulder. "We're not going anywhere. No way. No sir! You can't get rid of us." There was a pause, and her expression grew slowly more serious. "You did everything in your power to bring back my soul. It would be… wrong of me not to repay that debt." She moved to clasp his hand. "And it's not just a debt. You're my brother. Not just in blood, either – you've _always _been my brother. So I dare to face him for you. I dare to fight him for you. If needs be, I dare to die for you."

The two siblings regarded each other for a long moment, their own internal maelstroms of emotion visibly mirrored by their expressions, until Imoen drew a long, shaky breath and grinned again. "Besides, I can't let my little brother go face someone like Irenicus alone."

As Harrian sagged, smiling ruefully and gratefully, Minsc stepped up. "You say that you can not ask us to join you in fighting the Evil Wizard. But even if you were not going to face him, Minsc and Boo would. We have our cause to fight – we have Dynaheir to be avenged – and though we would do it without you if needed… if it can be done in a company of heroes, then so much the better!" the big Rashemani ranger declared, whacking Harrian on the shoulder Imoen had merely patted and almost knocking the swashbuckler over.

Rubbing where Minsc's hand had settled, Harrian's eyes flickered over to where Anomen and Reynald stood – the new knight and the former knight. "What about you two? Anomen, you got dragged into this when you were looking for a party with which you could prove your worth. You met us in the Adventurer's Mart and got into a fight in the Copper Coronet that same day, for Tymora's sake. You didn't know what you were getting into. You don't need to come."

Anomen looked highly affronted. "You told me that you were here to fight an evil wizard and rescue your childhood companion and that you needed a strong sword arm. I accepted your quest. Imoen may be here, with us, fully restored, but you have yet to fight the evil wizard." At last, a rueful smile crossed his face. "Besides, you helped me achieve my dream of knighthood."

"Because of me, you almost weren't knighted, and then you were _stripped _of your knighthood," Harrian corrected.

"It was returned." The rueful smile became a more playful one. "My quest with you is not over. It is true, I have no personal vendetta with Irenicus, but as long as I am a servant of righteousness I shall be your servant, Harrian Corias."

The Bhaalspawn laughed. "Anomen, if you think that _I _am righteousness, then we need to have a talk."

"No, I don't." The cleric stepped forward and gripped Harrian's shoulders firmly – but not as painfully as Minsc had. They regarded each other solemnly for a moment until an evil smirk crossed Anomen's lips. "But the Order instructed me to keep an eye on you, so here I shall remain!" he laughed, releasing Harrian and giving him a brief mock-bow.

Reynald chuckled. "I have no such obligation," he confessed, smiling thinly. "And it is true, I could go elsewhere, do what is needed elsewhere. But what is needed, for me, is redemption or death, and neither of those are the easiest of matters in the world. This is as good a place as any."

"Then somewhere else might be better," Harrian argued, not entirely sure why he was keeping this rather pointless resistance up.

Reynald shrugged. "If, by 'better', you mean safer, then… true. But what do you mean? Running around the countryside with five halfwits carting around dead cats and rescuing a child from a rabble of domesticated dogs? I think Torm would smile on me more for defeating an insane mage who is reducing a city to ashes."

Harrian returned the thin smile as he walked over to him, nodding slowly. "_Sir _Reynald de Chatillon… if you stand by my side, then I swear that I shall do everything in my power to see that the Holy Avenger Minsc carries in his pack shall some day be wielded by you."

A grim silence fell upon them as they all readied their weapons, Harrian drawing the Equaliser, Minsc bearing up his Warblade, Jaheira swinging Belm and Rashad's Talon impatiently, Imoen tossing the Gesen bow from hand to hand with agitation, Anomen wielding the Flail of Ages calmly, and Reynald with the flat of the blade of the Sword of Chaos resting casually on his shoulder.

"Very well. Let this wizard die this day…"


	145. Confrontations

**Chapter 145: Confrontations**

Reynald adjusted his grip on the Sword of Chaos slightly, taking a deep breath and revelling in the freshness around them. Were they not heading towards the conclusion of such a vital mission, he would have stopped for a while to admire the Tree of Life as they stood on its boughs. You could smell the crispness in the air around them, almost taste nature. It was by his gauntleted hand as he stretched it out to a near 'twig' in the massive tree, under his heavy metal boots as he strode at the back of the group, filling his nostrils and his throat with each breath he took. He had never placed much stock in nature before, considering the devotion of druids such as Jaheira to be admirable but unnecessary – though had quickly realised not to express that sentiment to the half-elf – but here and now, he could see what they had been fighting for. This part of nature wasn't merely something away from the cities and the people. This was something _beyond _them.

And Irenicus was trying to destroy it. For the first time, Reynald felt something stirring in him vaguely resembling a desire to fight for a cause. Until now, he had been fighting for the cause of someone else so it would serve his own ends. He could see now that this was hardly the path that would return him to Torm – the right action, done for the wrong reasons, was no right action at all. But to fight to preserve this, preserve the life he had seen, in all shapes and sizes… _that _was a reason.

They had so far despatched the parasites Irenicus had placed at key points on the Tree, finding them to be quite easy to deal with once their guards were eliminated. One by one, the barriers standing in the way of the party and Irenicus were lowering, and as they fell the tension rose. Harrian was becoming shifty, over-exerting himself in combat and remaining stoically silent outside, and it was starting to affect the others. Imoen had failed a few spells as time had gone by, and although Jaheira had been doing her best to keep them calm and had been constantly telling them to keep their guard, Reynald was not concerned. This was something he saw occasionally before the great battles; warriors would get nervous, make minor mistakes, and then agonise about making bigger mistakes when the fight finally came. But when it did… all was calm. All went like clockwork. Either they died smoothly or they lived smoothly. And although Reynald now had a strong reason to desire to win the fight beyond self-preservation, he was still ready to accept death. If his death could further the life of someone else who had more to live for then so be it.

The party maintained a constant pace as they strode through the branches of the Tree, heading for the very centre, where Irenicus would be, with Ellesime his captive. Harrian was bouncing from foot to foot with pent up energy on every other step, moving the Equaliser through complicated sword patterns as he walked, other hand itching towards the Daystar. He seemed to have decided to use one blade only, however, so that he was freer to move and dodge as he wished. With their packs deposited at the entrance to the Tree, all they had with them were their weapons and their armour. All they were equipped for was battle, not adventure. All they needed to be able to do was to fight at full strength, be as dangerous as possible, and bring Irenicus down.

The mad mage – for, although Reynald had never seen The Exile face to face, with the tales he had been told he had come to think of him as mad – was in the centre as predicted. There was no way they could have approached discreetly; their path towards him was a clear one, and as they emerged from the branches and leaves he spotted them instantly. The Queen was in a cage of sorts to Irenicus' left, looking as cool and composed as Reynald had ever expected of nobility – especially _elven _nobility – and regarded them with calm eyes on their approach.

Irenicus, similarly, had a lack of reaction. His arms were folded across his chest, and he seemed utterly unconcerned by either the arrival of the Bhaalspawn's party or the dozen or so bodies of fallen elves littered around his feet. His eyes swept over them all imperiously, and as Reynald looked into the blue orbs even icier than his own, he felt a shiver run up his spine. Harrian was right. There was something about this man which was utterly, utterly empty – he was not made of nightmares, as Reynald imagined the greatest of foes would be. He was made of the void, and that somehow made him even more terrifying than the fears the Fallen Paladin usually harboured in his heart.

"You live?" Irenicus asked, his voice as cold and unconcerned as his eyes. "You have only a fraction of your soul left, and yet you continue to defy me?" Although his words spoke of incredulity, he looked and sounded utterly bored by the goings-on.

Reynald blinked. This man, this monster, had decimated an entire city and was trying to commit an offence against the very gods themselves – and _he didn't care_. Reynald could, at last, feel anger rising within himself – hot, burning, empowering, and threatening to control. Anger was something that, until now, he had stamped down on, not wishing to allow it to guide his hand to more sins, but now he embraced it, tasted it, allowed it to flow through his limbs. Anger, he knew, was the most dangerous of weapons to harness, as it could so easily be turned on oneself – but if one succeeded, they would have strength greater than any cause or love could give.

Harrian's expression was similarly smouldering, and his gloved hand was shaking a little as he pointed a finger at Irenicus. Reynald hoped it was from fury rather than fear. "Yes. I do. I live. I continue to pursue you. And I shall finish you, Irenicus." The thief paused for a moment to take a deep, calming breath. "Bodhi has fallen. Your pets are defeated. The city is cleared. You are _beaten_, Irenicus."

"I am not beaten until I fall," the mage replied calmly. "Bodhi and the city are irrelevant. I shall finish you off, and then I shall resume my plans here. I have waited too long for this, planned too long, and fought too hard to be defeated. The Tree is all that matters. I shall harness its divine energy and be elevated to godhood. And you cannot stop me."

Harrian blinked. "I think that I can. Or I shall die in the attempt. Enough is enough, _Joneleth_." For once, Irenicus reacted. There was no flinch, no obvious shift in appearance, but he seemed sapped of his cold indifference for a moment. "Yes. I know who you are. I know why you do this. This is not how it must be done."

"_Must_? What do you know of these things, Bhaalspawn! You are but a pawn, a tool in my game, an annoying pest that I should have eradicated long ago instead of allowing Bodhi to have her fun. You know nothing of this, Corias," Irenicus said, his voice bland but with a greater note of urgency this time.

"No, Joneleth." Reynald blinked, and glanced over to see Ellesime clambering to her feet. Harrian was staring at her with an odd expression – something mixed between confusion and recognition, though he did not say anything.

"Your plan is failing," the queen continued. "The Tree of Life will _not _fall. You will not succeed as you once had. And it does not have to be this way." She rested heavily against the bars of her cage, her eyes fixed on Irenicus' frozen ones. "You were once a man I loved, Joneleth. And then you gave up everything – me, your life, your _spirit _– for your ambition and desire for power."

Irenicus stared impassively. "_I _did not give up anything. _I _reached further for that which I deserved, for all that I could achieve, until _you _stopped me, _you _tore away my life and my spirit. I did not do this to myself. _You _did."

"Because of what you had done! I did everything to _spare your life_, Joneleth!" Ellesime pressed, the tension on her face clear even to Reynald, though she still spoke with a note of great urgency. "Return to us, Joneleth. Return to what you were. It can be done."

Irenicus paused for a moment, and behind the mask he wore it seemed as if he was actually smiling. Reynald shivered. "You say it can be done now that I have you in a cage. It is too late for that, Ellesime." He grew grim again. "It cannot be done. I cannot feel what I was. You tore all of that away, _my queen_. You tore away all there was of my elven spirit so that all I had left to cling to was the memory. Then the memory of the memory. And then _nothing_."

He drew himself up to his full, imposing height to stare at them all again, turning his back on Ellesime and looking at the party. "You understand vengeance, don't you, Bhaalspawn? Of course you do, it is what has driven you so far. So understand _my _vengeance, Corias. I swore that the day would come when I would stride amongst these fools and fill their hearts with fear, that the day would come when I would ascend to what was rightly, mine. You may have disrupted my plans for the Tree, but they can be continued once I have dealt with you! At the very least, I swore that the day would come when vengeance would be in reach! And _I shall have it_!"

Minsc launched forward, Warblade upraised, Boo squeaking indignantly. Normally Reynald found the hamster amusing, but right then there was something very disconcerting about a battling rodent. "Minsc and Boo shall have their vengeance too!" the giant Rashemani cried. "You slew Dynaheir, our witch, without a thought! You shall _pay_!"

Irenicus stared calmly. "I do not know to whom you refer, and I care not. But I do not have time to deal with those such as you." He turned and pointed over at Minsc's left, murmuring an incantation Reynald recognised as a Summoning Spell, but unlike one he had ever heard.

Why it was so unfamiliar became clear seconds later, as a score of gnolls burst into the air – beasts like for any other Summoning Spell, but in far greater numbers than Reynald was used to seeing.

Minsc stopped in his tracks, and turned to face the gnolls bearing down on the party. "Fight the evil mage!" he bellowed, adjusting his grip on his sword. "I have the dog men. Yes, _Minsc _remembers you well, evil dog men!" And with that he was gone, launching himself into a mass of snarls and battling bodies to do as much damage as Reynald was sure he could deal out.

Harrian had hardly blinked during this entire exchange, also on his way towards Irenicus. Magic missiles launched by the mage were deflected by the enchanted buckler into the branch at his feet, but this distracted him enough that when the Equaliser was brought down in a blow aimed for the mage's head, it hit only a magical barrier. The swashbuckler staggered for a moment, the impact jarring his wrist, before leaping back and turning his head to yell at the rest of the party, who were hot on his heels. "Imoen! Bring those protections down!"

Reynald was directly behind him, the spellcasters of the party preparing their incantations to summon all the power they could possibly have – this was not a time to hold back for 'more important battles' – and swung the Sword of Chaos in an attack that should have split Irenicus' torso in half.

It broke through the shimmering barrier, but when it collided with the mage, his skin was solid and impenetrable, and the blade merely deflected off, leaving a slight dent but no lasting magic.

Reynald spat, shaking his head. "Blasted cowardly mages," he mumbled, regrouping and glaring at Irenicus.

The mage actually acknowledged him for a second. "Who shall live where you shall not." Then he raised his hands and mumbled another incantation swiftly, in time for an Aganazzar's Scorcher to hit Reynald in the chest and send him flying back through the air, in the direction of where Minsc had wiped out half of the gnolls.

Reynald's sword went flying from his hand and skidding along the boughs of the tree before pitching over the edge, and as the Fallen Paladin his the floor with a thump and a groan, he swore loudly. Clambering to his feet wasn't too easy in full plate, and made even harder by the gnoll bearing down on him.

Forgetting Irenicus for the moment, Reynald snatched a short sword from the scabbard on his right side and parried the halberd blow aimed at his skull. A quick twist detached metal from pole, and a slash ended the attack of the comparatively weak monster, but it prompted Reynald to still look at Minsc.

The Rashemani warrior was having a difficult time of so many foes at once. His red dragon scale had a giant slash in it across his back, and although Reynald could not see the blood from the wound against the colour of Minsc's armour, the crimson stream running down his face from a cut above his eye told of the challenge. And yet the ranger did not falter, but continued in an effective pattern of block, parry, kill, block, parry, kill.

Reynald hurried forwards, pausing to despatch another gnoll that faced him, unused to fighting at the close quarters his short sword forced him into. It was a matter of much jumping back and dodging, then getting in close for an attack before withdrawing rapidly, and Reynald knew he was not quite fast enough on his feet to be as effective as someone like Imoen might be.

A great cry then filled the air, and Reynald's first thoughts were of the rest of the party, battling Irenicus. But no. Anomen was picking himself up off the floor, granted, looking battered and bloody, but not in that much pain. Imoen was interchanging between her arrows aimed at Irenicus and a spell to bring down his protections, the concentration and determination on her face all too plain to see. Jaheira and Harrian had settled into a pattern of combat, one striking and then the other, forcing Irenicus to focus his attentions on both sides in a continuous battering. Although the fight looked like a challenge, they were not screaming.

Reynald ducked a swipe from the halberd and then lodged his short sword in the gnoll's gut before pushing the monster way from him. As it fell, he saw the source of the cry.

Minsc was on his knees, too bloodied for Reynald to see how many wounds he had suffered, defending himself weakly against the gnolls. Even as the Fallen Paladin redoubled his effort, fighting and killing quicker to get to him, a gnoll raised a spear it grasped, then launched it through the Rashemani ranger's chest. It exploded on the other side, and Minsc grew suddenly quiet, his eyes wide and staring. He took one great struggling painful breath… then was silent.

Without thinking, Reynald charged forward, taking up Minsc's fallen Warblade and swinging at the gnolls in a swipe that killed two of them. Boo was sitting on Minsc's chest, sniffing at the ranger's face, squeaking piteously. The rest of the party had been locked in combat too much to notice, save Imoen, whose eyes were wide and scared as Reynald spared a glance for her. Then she turned her bow in his direction, and felled two gnolls in quick succession.

With the numbers reduced and two of them focusing, the summoned army was eradicated without as much effort as there had once been, but Irenicus still remained. Reynald withdrew the Warblade from the body of the last gnoll, reached down to scoop up Boo – not even knowing why, exactly – then turned to face the mad mage, ready to rejoin the fray.

But before he reached there, a final spell from Imoen knocked down the shimmering barrier before him, and Harrian's latest blow took the mad mage in the chest.

With a great cry of pain, Irenicus fell back, collapsing to his knees, struggling for breath as Minsc had seconds before. Reaching the others, Reynald could summon no pity for this man as the mage convulsed briefly, then fell to his back, all breath or movement stopping.

A great silence settled upon them all as they stared at Irenicus' fallen body, then they all looked at Harrian. His eyes were closed, his brow creased in thought and hope, but as they looked, he became increasingly concerned. Then he looked at them at last. "Nothing," he whispered hoarsely, a touch of panic creeping in. "I feel… nothing."

Then everything went black.


	146. Abysmal Hell

**Chapter 146: Abysmal Hell**

The next breath Harrian drew was sharp and painful, but the relief that it brought as his lungs filled with life-giving air was palatable. He opened his eyes to see nothing more than dirt, and it took a few seconds before he actually realised he was lying face down. His hands were slow to cooperate as he raised them to push himself up to a kneeling position, and he massaged his wrists gently. Glancing around the floor, he saw the Equaliser lying on the ground beside him, as if for all the world he had just fallen here – wherever _here _was – rather than the Tree of Life, instead of being transported gods-knew where.

He grabbed the sword and sheathed it neatly, his breath coming in ragged, painful gulps. Whatever had happened, it had left him infinitely stunned, and so it took a few seconds before he could summon the energy to raise his head and eyes and try to work out where he actually was.

Then he did his best to scream, but the fact that his recovering breathing was currently on an exhale meant that all he really managed was a vaguely strangled sound before falling over backwards, eyes wide with horror at the sight before him.

Harrian knew little of the planes, or of the layers of the Abyss, or the Nine Hells, but he could recognise when things weren't looking particularly good. His grip tightened on the Equaliser, and he shifted his cloak a little so it was covering him a bit better, trying to move away from some of the horrific statues, scrabbling in a crab-like style.

What had happened? Where, exactly, was he? Why had Irenicus' death dragged him here? Where _was _Irenicus, and the others for that matter? His eyes scanned the enormous expanse he was in, the land of stone and fire, but he could not see further than a few metres into the oppressive darkness. Thoughtfully, he unsheathed his sword.

"Harrian!"

He whirled around and shifted to half-rise, swinging the sword in an overhead blow that would have split a man in half had he been on his feet. At his current elevation, however, the attack would have been only a dismembering threat to halflings, and nimble feet dodged the blade, allowing it to lodge into the stony ground.

Imoen looked down at him, then paused as Anomen reached down to pull him to his feet. "Don't get paranoid, bro. It's just us." She blinked, glancing around at their hellish environment. "Sheesh. Hardly my idea of the best holiday spot."

A few days ago, if stuck in such a place, Harrian knew Imoen would not have been so chirpy. It was only the presence of her soul, he assumed, that allowed her to treat the situation with such typical optimism. It also chased away a few of his fears, even if Anomen looked a little sickly.

"Paranoid?" he asked, chuckling weakly and pulling away from the cleric to stand on his own two feet. "I think I have a reason to be paranoid. Just _look _at this place!" He peered at them cautiously. "Where are the others?" Harrian asked at last, trying to keep his voice calm and devoid of worry. It didn't work.

Anomen made a face. "We do not know. Doubtless, somewhere around here. Unfortunately. It would be pleasant to think that they were free of this hellish place." He looked around, forehead creased with worry. "Harrian, just where _are _we?"

"I don't know," the thief confessed, finally sheathing his sword. He thought for a moment, wanting to pace but not quite daring to in this complete darkness. "Maybe the others didn't get dragged here at all. Maybe it's me because it's my soul, and you because you're a Bhaalspawn, Imoen."

She shrugged. "Then why is Anomen here?"

Anomen smiled a wry and slightly humourless smile. "Maybe this is a hole to where all those with paternal conflicts are doomed?"

Imoen rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Come on. We should find the other three here somewhere." She started off in a random direction towards the darkness, Anomen in her wake. Harrian paused behind, staring, frowning, straining all senses. There was something about this place… something he could almost taste. Something important and familiar he knew he was missing.

"Harrian! Come on!"

Jerked out of his reverie, Harrian twitched a little before hurrying after the pair. "Coming, coming," he mumbled, realising that it wasn't as if they were going to be leaving any time soon, if his gut feeling was correct – which he rather hoped it wasn't.

Their eyes adjusted to the gloom as they proceeded, and it was quite reassuring to know that the darkness was normal, and not magical or otherworldly in some ways – maybe it was even night in this place. But as they wandered for a few minutes, there was no sign of any other forms of life in the vicinity, until…

"Squeak!"

Imoen leapt to a halt and tugged at Anomen's arm excitedly. "A squeak! A hamster! Boo!" she exclaimed in a gleeful jumble.

Anomen was looking a little less enthused. "Are you sure, my lady?" he asked in a pained voice. "There are all manners of evil things in the Nine Hells… a squeak does not even guarantee anything small, fluffy and friendly, let alone any familiar rodents."

"Well, we are not rodents, but we hope we are familiar," Jaheira's wry voice cut through the darkness, and the druid came into view a few seconds later, a Boo-grasping Reynald beside her. She looked worn and haggard, but Harrian could see that the light of battle had not yet left her eyes.

He smiled, weary but quite strengthened by the sight of her in one piece, and moved forward to pull her into a hug. She stiffened a little at first, neither of them too prone to public displays of affection, but softened after a few seconds and returned the embrace fiercely. Now was a time for comfort rather than self-consciousness.

"What about Minsc? Have you seen him?" Imoen was asking Reynald urgently when Harrian pulled back, keeping his hand on Jaheira's shoulder protectively.

Reynald glanced away, inexpertly stroking Boo with a gauntleted hand. His eyes remained on the hamster for a few long moments as the newest addition to the party struggled with his words. "He was slain," he admitted at last, frowning deeply. "By Irenicus' summoned gnolls. He was overrun by numbers, and without my sword I could not help him enough." 

Solid ice shot through Harrian's stomach – a cold, familiar feeling, which he was overused to experiencing over the last eighteen months. "We… left him to fight those gnolls alone," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

He felt Jaheira grasp his hand firmly. "If we had not, too many of us would have been distracted by them… leaving Irenicus free to cause even more chaos and death amongst us," she whispered, her own mouth set in a pensive line.

"And I fear I lost my… ah, that is, the sword you gave me. It fell out of the Tree. I was forced to use my short sword, which made me quite ineffective until I took up Minsc's Warblade." Despite the grim news and the even grimmer situation, Harrian could not help but feel quite sorry and vaguely amused by Reynald's excessively bashful expression.

"The sword was… Sarevok's. I have no personal use for it." Harrian shifted, then nodded at the Warblade. "Minsc's sword is a far more powerful weapon anyway. It is best that you carry it." He looked down for a few moments.

_Minsc… you may have imparted more wisdom to me than anyone since Gorion. And you fall too? How long till it is the turn of the others…_

He shook his head. They seemed to be trapped in some deep layer of the Abyss, or trapped in the Hells themselves, and he was wondering when they would all meet their end? Ridiculous. At least, he reasoned, they would meet it together. And he could be wrong. They might just win.

Harrian's morbid thoughts were interrupted by Reynald letting out a pained groan, and shifting his hands as Boo began to run along his arm rapidly. "Ah! This hamster… I fear I am not particularly good with animals," the Fallen Paladin confessed, shifting and trying to pull Boo off his shoulder plate.

Anomen, nearest, moved in to help, and picked up Boo lightly. "I wonder what shall come of him with his master gone," the cleric said quietly, his brow furrowed. He raised the hamster to eye-level, evidently lost in his own thoughts – for sharing the frontline with Minsc had to have created a special camaraderie – and all was silent for a long moment until he wrinkled his nose and let loose with an impressive sneeze.

He, too, almost dropped Boo until Imoen picked the small hamster up. "I'll take care of him," she said quietly. "Boo knows how to handle the open road. Don't you, Boo." She gently stroked the gold-and-white hamster's back with her ungloved hand, her own face a mask of pain. "Though, if Minsc was right… you shall outlast us all."

Anomen raised an eyebrow and looked at his four companions. "Which may not be hard, in this dismal place."

Jaheira shook her head. "Come, no more of this," she said with certainty. In the time they had been standing there, their eyes had adjusted even more to the gloom of this level of Hell – for they all assumed that this was indeed where they were – allowing them greater visibility. It also rather suggested a bit more how they could attempt to proceed. There was no sign of Irenicus, but the nearest sheer rock face seemed to also have a huge, impressive door set in it, with five stone eyes at points around it. There was no obvious way to open the door… but the five paths leading away from the great stone arena they found themselves in could well be quite promising.

Harrian grimaced a little, folding his arms across his chest and glancing around, a little clueless. Each path ahead of them looked fairly daunting, but he was not entirely sure how to proceed. Running head-first into potential danger was not what he had in mind as his favoured way forward, now their numbers were down… he was not going to see another companion fall.

But as he glanced at those companions, he realised that all eyes were on him expectantly. Not for the first time, he cursed having claimed party leadership back in the north instead of leaving things to Jaheira and Khalid. Now he would be forced to make decisions forever.

He pasted a smile on his face, not quite realising the party could see through his forced cheer and that this made them even _more _nervous, then nodded at the nearest path. A long, winding trail made its way down a slope into even more darkness, a darkness that made his false smile falter a little.

"We have to start somewhere, no?" he said hopefully, gripping the hilt of his sword in a way that belied his optimistic words. "Come along, now. Irenicus has to be somewhere. He can't have just doomed us like this." The lack of conviction in his voice prompted the others to exchange uneasy glances before they fell into step behind him as he started down the pathway, but there were no complaints.

In the gloom, Harrian reached out for Jaheira's hand, and found it easily. "It's happening again," he whispered to her, too low for any of the others to overhear. "Yoshimo, then almost you, now Minsc…"

"Shh," Jaheira replied quietly. "Do not shoulder this yourself." She paused as he nodded slowly, painfully, then squeezed his hand gently. "Irenicus is the only one to blame for Minsc's death. Just see him avenged."

Harrian took a deep breath. "I shall." He paused as they reached the foot of the winding path, emerging in another, smaller arena. Shadows moved around, imprecise and incorporeal, hostile with a promise of threats but impossible to be defended against.

"What _is _this place?" Anomen mumbled, brow furrowed. His grip on his flail was firm.

"If it's not the Hells, then Gods know where on Faerûn somewhere worse has been created," Imoen said quietly.

Harrian wasn't listening to them. His eyes were fixed on a shadow over to his left, and he stepped away from the group slowly. Unlike the others, this one seemed to have a precise form; that of a man. And as Harrian approached and stared, it stepped out from the sea of other shadows, becoming more precise. And infinitely recognisable.

"So, brother. You have arrived. I expected as much."

Harrian stiffened, feeling Jaheira and Imoen do the same behind him. "_Sarevok_?"


	147. Moments Away

**Chapter 147: Moments Away**

"Harrian Corias, if those members of the Order who continue to doubt you could see you now, then I am sure all dissension or questions would be banished from their thoughts!" Anomen chuckled as the party made its way back up the fifth winding road, their leader tossing the final Tear of Bhaal from hand to hand contemplatively.

"And why is that, Anomen?" Harrian asked slowly, his brow furrowed. "Because I 'passed' these tests?"

"Exactly!" the cleric continued, a little oblivious to the thief's less-than-enthusiastic response to his declarations. "Here, in the depths of the Hells, your very soul and moral conduct have been tried, and you showed yourself to be forthright and true."

Harrian's brow furrowed even further. "I'm not sure about that. Maybe it showed that I'm not a raving evil psychopath, but even the most immoral of individuals can come out like a saint when given these sorts of clear-cut black-and-white tests."

Anomen blinked, looking confused. "How so? Those of the dark would have chosen the dark paths… those of the light, the light paths."

Harrian threw him a scornful look over his shoulder. "_Really_, Anomen, have you not learnt anything over the last few months? How many people have you met who are completely, completely dark? Or even completely white? We are all grey." He came to a halt, leaning against the nearest boulder thoughtfully as he slipped the final Tear of Bhaal into his pack. "I could be a murderer who would still sacrifice a part of myself to save a friend from death. I could want to ascend to my father's throne without wanting to kill needlessly. I could be the most evil man alive who still refuses to be goaded into doing something."

He shook his head, pushing off the rock and carrying on, a few paces ahead of the slightly stunned party. "Besides, in this place, it's not about good and evil. It's about Bhaaltaint. And whether or not I'd give into it. And even if I were to sink into a depravity that would have the Order trying to hunt me down, I would still choose the same way I already have. Because those decisions were based on who I am, not on how good I am. To give into Sarevok's urgings, allow you to die, take the nymph cloak… That would all be to give up myself to the Bhaaltaint." A grim smile crossed his face as he glanced back at them once more. "And even if I were an evil bastard, then I'd be an evil bastard on _my _terms, not on Bhaal's. So, you see, choosing as I did just now doesn't prove much."

Harrian shook his head as they emerged back into the giant arena where the great door was set into the rock face, awaiting the tears. "Besides, morality cannot be judged in such a sterile environment. It's easy to be good when it's such a clear-cut decision. Being a good man in real life is that much harder."

Anomen nodded, looking a little sheepish. "Very well." There was a pause, and a wry smile crossed his face. "But it would still convince those doubting members of the Order who think in black and white."

Reynald shrugged. "I like to think that I would not have chosen any different than Harrian did… and yet I am no man of the light." He paused, sighing softly. "But we passed, and our souls seem to be intact."

"It is time," Jaheira agreed, looking up from where she'd been staring at her boots all the way along the path. There was a grim silence, broken only by the ringing of metal as she smoothly unsheathed her twin scimitars, her face settling into a grim expression.

Reynald nodded. "This needs to be done," he declared, raising his hands to place his grim and closed-face helmet upon his head. The red plumage was a little ragged, the metal protecting the left cheek a little battered, and the Fallen Paladin's appearance became even more imposing as he squinted at them through the slanted eyeholes. "Procrastination is the thief of time, after all," he said at last, and the light tone of his voice made them all chuckle in the tension.

"Alright. Alright." Harrian shook his head, hardly believing that he was debating whether or not to go and face Irenicus _just _yet – the moment was too odd, too surreal. This was what he had been working towards for the last two months, and the idea that it was here… that his soul was so close, that resolution, of some sort, was close… was overwhelming.

He reached up to slot the first tear into the first eye. At first, nothing happened, and he glanced nervously back at the others in confusion. Then, suddenly, the stone eye closed, and he felt a jolt of energy run up his arm, racing down into his belly and filling him with a strength and fizzing fortitude he had never yet experienced. Then the sensation hurtled up his spine and into his head, filling his vision shockingly, and he gasped and staggered.

Jaheira was by his side in a second, grabbing his arm, her face full of concern. "What? What is it?" she demanded, her scimitars sheathed once more.

Harrian blinked groggily, his vision coming back. There was a long silence as he drew deep, ragged breaths, trying to work out what had happened and why. He felt… odd. Stronger, somehow. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, demanding his attention, and so he allowed it to take over briefly.

His hands went down to his boot, reaching inside for the plain dagger he kept there in case of emergency. It was a good blade – it had been Gorion's, and he had carried it ever since he'd taken it off his foster father's body. Others had urged him to replace the dagger, which sometimes became his last and only weapon, with a more powerful enchanted one, but he'd refused. It was miraculous that he hadn't lost it in Irenicus' dungeon, but once Imoen had released him he'd found it discarded on the table of equipment in the nearest room. Unlike their other, powerful arms and armour Irenicus would not have won a fine price for this dagger.

He ran the blade over the tip of his finger, testing it. It was still sharp. Then, almost on a whim, as the niggling thing in the back of his head demanded attention, he gripped it and ran it over the back of his left hand forcefully.

There was no cut. No blood. No mark. He would have done more damage with a toy knife.

"Interesting," Harrian murmured, returning the knife to his boot and straightening up to face the others. They were regarding him with confused and slightly suspicious expressions on their face. "What?"

Jaheira shifted uncomfortably. "Harrian… your eyes…"

"What?" he repeated, suspicious. "What about them?"

Imoen clicked her fingers, then shuffled through her pack of spell components for a second before emerging with a small mirror. She shrugged as she handed it over to Harrian, ignoring the glances of the others. "Well, some of you might be happy looking as if you've just been dragged through the undergrowth when we are out of the city, but I'm not!"

Anomen raised an eyebrow at her. "I did not know of this vanity, my lady," he said, smirking a very little.

She whacked him on the arm lightly. "There _is _a point somewhere between vanity and a complete disregard for your appearance, Ano." There was a pause, then Imoen looked back at Harrian. "See what I mean, big bro?"

Harrian was squinting at the glass in confusion and wondering who'd gone and made his eyes go golden. He was half-convinced that it was some sort of trick of the light, or that it would pass, even though the rest of him feared it wasn't. His eyes were gold – as gold as a dragon's hoard, as gold as the rising sun… as gold as Sarevok's had been. And it didn't look like it could pass.

This was not good. He'd _liked _his eyes. They'd been nondescript unless you looked right at them, and then they were rich in their darkness. Now he had a pair of torches set into his face, which would hardly ever allow discretion.

Though, Harrian reasoned, discretion was not one of his fortes anymore.

"Well. That's interesting," he repeated, tossing the mirror back to Imoen and assuming a nonchalant air. "Anyway, where were we?"

The break from the tension was brief, and as he clicked the other Tears into place, each time feeling a jolt of energy and increased strength run through him, the party shifted nervously behind them. Anomen ran through an incantation to call down greater strength from Helm, Imoen rifled through her spellbook to verify for the hundredth time that she would not incorrectly call down the arcane energy she knew like the back of her hand, and Reynald swung the Warblade through a few moves, gathering a feel for the weapon. At the same time, as Harrian put each Tear in each eye, he could feel Jaheira's eyes on the back of his neck, both worrying and reassuring at the same time. Irenicus was so close. Either death or victory awaited.

They could do this. They _would _do this.

He hefted the last Tear and looked at the others, his newly-golden eyes shining oddly in the half-light of the arena. "Ready?" he asked, taking deep, even breaths.

They nodded in reply. "As ready as we'll ever be to take on an evil, soul-stealing psychopathic mage," Imoen said chirpily, even though she looked like she was ready to pass out.

Harrian nodded, his eyes locking with Jaheira's for a moment. There were no words between them that needed to be said, or actions. He wasn't quite sure he could shift this feeling in his gut into words, either. She nodded levelly for him as he forced himself to look away, focus on the others, and she seemed to understand.

"I've told you a thousand times to not follow me, and here you are," he said at last to the others. "It's too late to turn back, so I'm not going to make any more speeches about it. But… I just want to say…"

"…say something in case we don't all make it out of here alive?" Anomen guessed, looking vaguely amused before his face was hidden by the helmet he rammed on his head. "No. We shall _all _emerge from this fight alive, Harrian."

Imoen nodded. "Besides," she said fiercely. "There's nothing you need to say we don't already know. Nothing any of us need to say we don't already know." She tilted her head to look Anomen in the eye slowly, and although the cleric's expression was hidden, his shock was quite plain to see in his body language.

Harrian shook his head, smirking a little, then took another deep breath. "Well," he mumbled, half-closing his eyes as he raised the hand that held the final Tear of Bhaal. "Here we go, I suppose." Not his most heroic final words ever, but… fairly apt.


	148. Final Battle

**Chapter 148: Final Battle**

The doors flew open and a burst of magical energy emerged with them that threw the party back through the air, sending them skidding along the ground of this arena within the Abyss, half-stunned and powerless to resist. They had not anticipated this sort of reaction – had expected to see only Irenicus – and so when the mage did stride out calmly from behind the doors, all they could do was pick themselves up achingly and bear their weapons in a vaguely aggressive posture.

"I grow weary of these battles, Irenicus," Harrian groaned, gripping the Equaliser and giving it an experimental swing. "Though it is quite ironic. I swore I would hunt you to the very Hells if necessary… and, well, here we are."

"Indeed. Here we are," Irenicus agreed, nodding slowly as he folded his arms across his chest. "This is an undeniable final reckoning. Whoever wins returns to the land of the living, with a soul and a life. Whoever loses… dies. And heed my words, Bhaalspawn – to die here is to cease to be!"

"No more platitudes, Irenicus!" Jaheira shouted, clutching her scimitars impatiently. "You have much to pay for, many deaths on your hands that must be avenged. You shall not flee again – there _is _no escape! Here _you _die your final death!"

"I grow tired of chasing you across the realms, wizard," Anomen said, his voice both angry and weary. "Know that the light of righteousness has reached you, and there is no darkness great enough to extinguish it. Even for a foe as formidable as yourself."

Reynald raised the Warblade in a solemn salute. "I have no personal vendetta against you, Shattered One. But one who has committed your crimes cannot be allowed to live on. So… die," he intoned solemnly.

There was a grim silence for a few moments, until Imoen's whisper permeated it, echoing all around the arena. "This is our last stand, here in Hell," the mage said quietly, simply, and with much less drama than her companions. "We fall… or we win."

Irenicus' features twisted into something that vaguely resembled a grim smile, though it sent shivers down Harrian's spine. "Very well. Come, Bhaalspawn… it is about time we settled this, indeed." He raised his hands dramatically, and they crackled with magical energy. "In my time here, I have realised that the creatures of the Hells are not to be feared. They can even be _used_!"

The party sprang forwards even as Irenicus' body shifted and changed, the limbs lengthening and skin reddening to turn into the form of the Slayer. Beside him, portals swirled into existence, and a trio of Glabrezu emerged, roaring and spitting. This distraction was just enough to allow the Slayer to raise magical protections, and so when Reynald's Warblade finally came down in an aggressive blow, it bounced off harmlessly.

"The demons!" the Fallen Knight bellowed, his voice echoing oddly behind his helmet. "We can do nothing here!" He whirled around to block the downwards swing of the horned arm of a Glabrezu, and the demon hissed in pain at the contact of his blade.

"Imoen! Get those defences _down_!" Harrian shouted, also dashing back to neatly sidestep a slash from the second demon. The Equaliser flashed dangerously as he stabbed in retaliation, and crackled when it came into contact with the creature's flesh – for the sword would indeed be at its most dangerous when fighting evil like this… or, similarly, if it were turned against the most righteous paladin of the world.

"The Slayer's not _doing _anything!" she yelled in return, one of the arrows from the Gesen Bow deflecting harmlessly off Irenicus' protections. Ignoring Harrian's instructions, she decided to focus her efforts on the more present danger of the demon, the third of which Anomen and Jaheira were tackling ably.

A Lower Resistance spell was directed at Harrian's Glabrezu, allowing the swashbuckler's subsequent attack to pierce the demon's skin painfully. It let out another roar, one which was cut short by, ten seconds after the first spell, a second ball of energy shooting forward to hit it.

Harrian had, at this point, raised his sword for another attack, spurred on by the success of his last, and brought the Equaliser down with full strength in a blow aimed at the torso of the Glabrezu. He almost fell over, therefore, when Imoen's second spell reduced the creature into dust and his sword flew harmlessly through the air to embed itself in the ground.

His sister's successful whoop caused him to look up as he yanked out the Equaliser, a smirk on his face. "Disintegrating a denizen of the Hells?" he shouted over the roar of battle, a euphoric feeling rising within him. The adrenaline was pumping as a result of this hectic fight, the importance of the battle was making his head spin, and he could _feel _his soul so close. It was agonising, the way it was just out of reach, but at the same time spurred him on, gave him extra strength to struggle forwards.

Imoen smiled to herself slightly as she shifted to fire an arrow at Reynald's Glabrezu, even as she heard Anomen's victorious "Take _that_!" and the one he and Jaheira had been battling fell to the ground, dead.

Felling the third demon with all five of them focusing on it was far less difficult, and it went down with a vicious slash from Reynald's sword shortly, the last of the defenders Irenicus had summoned to fight then.

At last, all eyes turned to focus on Irenicus – or the Slayer – who had now shifted to move his claws through the weaving of an incantation. Behind the four fighters forming the frontline, Imoen quickly mimicked it, raising her own protective spells. She knew full well that she would often be a primary target of an enemy mage, just as they would be her primary target. Once there were protections from the weapons of the warriors, it because a wizard's duel.

The protections, however, didn't stop Jaheira's scimitar from flying through the air and hitting Irenicus on his apparently undefended back. The Slayer staggered a little, but hardly reacted to the blow, merely continued with its casting to raise another shimmering barrier.

Harrian's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the ground around them cautiously, stepping away from Irenicus. "A Mislead spell!" he shouted urgently, and they all shifted back. "Anomen!"

The cleric hardly needed more prompting than that before he too had raised his hands and cast a True Sight spell. The air before them flickered for a moment disconcertingly, the Slayer they could see flashing in and out of their vision, before disappearing altogether. Two feet to its left, the real Irenicus, still in the Slayer's form, was visible.

Spell protections still present, he launched through the air at Harrian, who was ready with the Equaliser to deflect the blow instantly. Although it was clear that Irenicus intended to kill the Bhaalspawn and finish the fight that way, Harrian's own intense familiarity with the body the mage wore levelled the playing field.

They were both moving fast as they shifted away a little from the group, Irenicus' spiky limbs flying through the air at an intense and possibly over-exerting fashion, Harrian's own, slightly more conservative movements nevertheless bringing the Equaliser up to parry each incredibly speedy blow with ease. The Bhaalspawn's fleetness had never been in question, for he had an innate agility and speed that was equalled possibly only by Imoen in the party, but here he was going beyond that. With every swift blow from the Slayer, a beast which was faster, stronger, and tougher than any human or demi-human in the realms, Harrian matched it move for move.

He _knew _exactly which spikes along the arm were best for an overhead slash, where the delicate bits of flesh were, just where each foot would land with each bound of the Slayer's, possibly better even than Irenicus himself knew. It was a body he had worn before, and even though he had rejected the power and darkness of it, all of them doubted it had ever left his mind.

A quick spin took Harrian away from a thrust forward of the Slayer's arm, and he returned that with his own slash that caught Irenicus' shoulder viciously. This was a pattern they had settled into; Harrian avoiding as many of the Slayer's blows as he could, then retaliating with a smaller attack that would nevertheless eventually bring Irenicus down.

Only it was a pattern that was about to be broken, as the arm that had been slashed moved through a vicious uppercut that caught Harrian on the chin. There was a ferocious _crack_, Harrian's head snapping back painfully, and the swashbuckler was sent flying through the air by the tremendous strength that had to have been behind the blow. He soared across the arena as if he were a doll that had been tossed aside, hit the huge pillar in the centre with another sickening crunch, then slid to the floor and moved no more.

There was a long, painful silence as the party waited, too stunned to move, frozen in place. Their eyes flickered from the prone Harrian to the Slayer, waiting for some reaction.

Slowly, the Slayer came to a halt, and as they all watched, Irenicus shifted back into his original form. Ignoring their astonished gapes, the mage took a deep breath, his features even harder to read than usual behind the shimmering magical protective barriers. "It is done," he intoned at last, solemnly, his arms folded over his chest. "It is over."

Another stunned silence greeted his words, the party too astonished to react, assimilating his words exceptionally slowly.

Then Jaheira, her face an expressionless mask, raised her two scimitars calmly, gave Irenicus a cold nod, then launched back into the fray. There was only a split second of hesitation before the other three members of the party hurtled after her, sword, flail and bow upraised.

_Wait a minute_, Imoen thought as she pulled back the string of her bow, knowing it would do little good. _If Harrian's dead and has lost his soul for good… then why is Irenicus still here?_

This thought was made rather hard to take to its logical conclusion by Irenicus waving his hand at a spot just to his left, and another portal rising through the ground to deposit another Glabrezu in the middle of the fray.

A curt nod from Jaheira sent Anomen to detach himself from the battle with Irenicus and launch himself at the demon, all three heads of his flail flashing in the dim light of the arena. The creature barely had time to react, and thus the weapon thudded into its back within seconds of its arrival. Then it turned to face Anomen, and the fight was indeed on.

_Harrian can't be dead, _Imoen's mind raced as she tried to focus on all that was going on,_ or this fight would already be over. Irenicus is just trying to… jar us. So he can eradicate us before moving on to Harrian._

_It's working._

She wracked her brains as she focused on Irenicus, an unidentifiable spell splashing harmlessly over her own magical protection. She needed to bring the barriers down so Reynald and Jaheira had a hope in the Hells of killing the mage, but which? A simple Pierce Magic wouldn't do all that was needed here.

Then she stepped forwards, hands upraised, her eyes flashing with a similar shade of gold that Harrian's eyes had shifted to, and she ran through the incantation to cast Khelben's Warding Whip.

"Take that, Irenicus!" she shouted gleefully as the spell flew through the air, over the heads of the Jaheira and Reynald as they fought, and smashed into the mage's shimmering spell protections, doubtless to bring them down.

Doubtless, she thought. But as she watched in absolute horror, frozen in place, the shimmering barriers flickered for a minute… then strengthened, repelling the ball of energy she had just cast and sending it back into her direction.

_Spell Turning… that'll teach you for not paying enough attention to the books back at Candlekeep, _Imoen had time to think as she watched the spell come back and smash against her protective barriers.

_Bang_. Down went her Globe of Invulnerability, the impact knocking her off her feet.

_Bang. _Down went her Spell Deflection.

_Bang. _Down went her Spell Immunity.

She had only just started to pick herself back up to her feet, rueing the day when she'd given up lock-picks for magic tricks, when Irenicus' voice sounded through the arena, deep and imposing and chanting the incantation to a spell she knew to fear… especially when he pointed at her.

Finger of Death. And she'd managed to achieve the height of stupidity and bring all of her defences down.

It seemed as if the others recognised the spell also, for Jaheira went into something of a frenzy, battering her scimitars futilely against Irenicus' protection to magical weapons. Reynald, calmer than Jaheira, had the presence of mind to strike with his unenchanted short sword, which he had pulled out. It slashed across Irenicus' back, distracting the mage, but far too late.

Three flail heads wrapped themselves around the skull of the summoned Glabrezu, felling the demon, and were not removed as Anomen, calmly and confidently, took a step back into the path of the spell. There was no ceremony to the action, no shouting or screaming, or leaping frantically across the arena. He just placed himself in between Imoen and Irenicus, arms spread out, body stance defiant.

The magical energy hit him on the chest and he collapsed on the spot – he did not fly through the air like Harrian, did not slowly keel over… he just went limp and fell with a clatter and a thud.

A cold, sick feeling sank to Imoen's stomach as she saw Anomen collapse, icy waves running through her limbs and slowing them down even as a hot flash sparked in her chest to counter it, a mixture of fear and rage joining together and consuming her whole body. And behind that fear and rage was a bleak blackness, a dark that was greater than her, than any of them. 

_Irenicus is a gnat. Destroy him at your leisure_, an empty voice echoed through her head, a voice she'd never heard before but was yet intimately familiar to her.

_F-father?_ Imoen didn't know why that flitted across her mind, why the voice of Bhaal within her could even be considered as 'father', but right then, with the rage and the fear humming through her… it was _right_.

_Harness your power! Use it! **Destroy him**!_

_I… he's too powerful_.

Another surge of darkness rose within her, and she staggered a little at the force of it all, the sheer hatred and venom her Bhaaltaint contained. _She _contained. And within her, within the taint, was a strength and a power she didn't know she'd contained.

_Here are the tools, daughter. You have borne them all along. Now **use **them._

_I…_

Reluctance and fear settled in her belly for a split second until she suddenly found her eyes forced to stare first at Harrian, who was only just now staggering to his feet, healing potion in hand, then at Jaheira and Reynald, battling away valiantly but futilely, then at Anomen's completely prone form.

_He is dead. He has been **murdered**. Irenicus has killed him._

_I…_

_Daughter, **avenge **that murder!_

A scream, harsh and painful, ripped from her throat as she whirled around, magical energy crackling from her hands, weaving together and strengthening into a bright ball of power until she launched it at Irenicus.

The mage's previously imperious expression faltered as he saw the energy flying towards him, and as it crashed against his protections, this time it was not reflected. The magical barriers keeping him safe from the rest of the world flickered for a few seconds… then collapsed.

There was a harsh, hollow silence filling the arena as everyone stared at him, Reynald and Jaheira too stunned to strike…

…until a whistling noise was heard and a throwing knife embedded itself in Irenicus' neck, blood spurting out at the impact. The mage's eyes grew wider, and a strangled sort of noise escaped from his lips as he staggered…

…only to be struck by a pair of scimitars slashing across his chest, the broad blade of a claymore running through his belly, and another two throwing knives singing through the air one after the other to plant themselves solidly in his back.

Irenicus stared, raising a faltering hand to one of the slashes in his chest, and he staggered to turn around and gaze at Harrian. The swashbuckler was looking rather the worse for wear, blood running down one side of his face from a vicious cut on his forehead, two empty healing bottles on the floor by his feet, his left arm hanging at a useless angle, his right hand holding a fourth throwing knife plucked from his bandolier. But his golden eyes were glowing, and his expression wore a note of triumph.

"I… you've _killed _me," Irenicus gasped, eyes wide, before his legs gave out from under him and he fell to the floor with a thud.

Another long silence followed as they all stared at each other with disbelief. This one was only broken when Imoen noticed the heavy, ragged, metallic-sounding breathing that was coming from Anomen's body.

She dashed towards the fallen cleric, skidding down to her knees beside him as he raised his hands weakly to the helmet that hid his face. She was there first, however, pulling the helm off his head and helping him to a sitting position. "You're _not _dead!" she almost squealed with delight, throwing her arms around him.

It was only out of luck that he was able to rest a hand against the floor to brace himself so he didn't fall back again, and he was clearly too groggy to react too distinctly to Imoen's enthusiasm. "No, my lady… it seems as if Helm granted me the fortitude to resist the spell…" the cleric replied weakly, grinning a little.

"It is just as well," Reynald said brightly as he grabbed Anomen by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet once Imoen had pulled back. "We cannot do to lose any more of our comrades. Now maybe we can leave this abysmal place?"

All eyes turned towards Harrian as Anomen shifted off to retrieve his flail. The swashbuckler was staring at Irenicus' body, Jaheira by his side, the druid having clearly tended to him with a healing spell. Harrian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting.

"Anything?" Imoen asked anxiously, eyes flickering from Irenicus to her brother nervously.

There was a long pause, then a rush of air seemed to fill the arena, and a slow smile tugged at Harrian's lips. "Yes," he mumbled brightly, and a low chuckle escaped from him. "I have… I feel… it is…" He opened his eyes, which now seemed to be a slightly lighter shade of gold than they'd been seconds before, and grinned at them. "Alright. Let's leave this hell," he declared mischievously, then raised a hand and clicked his fingers.


	149. Peace

**Chapter 149: Peace**

"He was always braver than any of us, wasn't he," Imoen mused sadly as she stood next to Harrian in front of Minsc's grave, a day after the defeat of Irenicus and the party's return to the living. The hours since had been hectic, the elves using them to start the rebuilding process of the city, the party using them to recover from their ordeal, and there had been little breathing room to relax and enjoy the end of their quest.

"He was always a better person than any of us," Harrian agreed, arms folded across his chest. "And I sometimes wonder if he was smarter than all of us." He paused, his eyes turning skywards towards the boughs of the Tree of Life. They had thought it fitting to bury their dead friend here. "Of all of us, he was the one who deserved pain the least."

Imoen grabbed Harrian's arm, clutching to it, and when the thief lowered his head he saw that her face was a mask of grief. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It's how he'd have wanted to go," Harrian told her, hating the words he spoke – even if they were true.

Imoen nodded slowly, closing her eyes. "And he's probably right now in the big lodge in the sky, regaling the other dead warriors with his adventures." She smiled thinly. "He's had some good ones." She raised her other hand, the one holding Boo gently, and detached herself from Harrian to stroke the little hamster. "He'll be missing you, won't he."

"I don't know how we're expected to carry on adventuring without him," Harrian said quietly, looking down. "Since Nashkel, Minsc's _always _been here… and we're supposed to plod along without him? Who's going to kick evil's buttocks? Who's going to point out when we're being infinitely stupid? Who's going to bring to our attention the deceptively simple answers we've missed because we've been tripping over our own two feet trying to be clever?"

"We'll have to do that," Imoen mumbled, patting his arm lightly. "But come on. We should get back to the city. Ellesime said she wanted to talk to you."

"She's been saying that since midday yesterday, and has never come up with the time. Always doing something." Harrian shrugged as the two of them moved away from the Tree and started back on the path up towards the city. "I can wait. She probably has something incredibly morbid to tell me, and I'm happy being… happy."

"Can feel that soul within you?" Imoen asked wryly, smiling in a slightly lopsided way.

He nodded firmly. "More than ever. I can feel _everything_ more… everything's more alive. More real. Louder."

Imoen returned the nod. "That's how it is… of course, I didn't get mine back in the happiest of circumstances… but now, I intend to sit back… and enjoy it. Appreciate it more than I ever did. And a place like this… even if Suldanessellar's in this sort of state… it's still beautiful. Relaxing. Wondrous."

"And will be even more wondrous once they've rebuilt it. I do want to stay and help with that for a bit… do something productive for others for once," Harrian agreed. Then he glanced at her. "But there are the rumours of the Bhaalspawn in the south moving. Something's brewing. And I don't know if I should wait and see what's happening before leaping in, or get involved in the start."

"Find out more, first. We don't have any idea of what we'd be hurtling in to," Imoen suggested.

He looked at her. "There's a 'we'?"

She poked him lightly. "Hey, I'm a Bhaalspawn too, you know. This affects me just as much as it affects you. I'm there, all the way, brother."

"And the others?" Harrian asked, frowning.

"You honestly think Jaheira will let you flit off on your own?" Imoen challenged.

He smiled a little, a smile that was both wry and quietly pleased. "No. I suppose. I was thinking more about Anomen and Reynald. They're free to head off wherever and whenever they please," Harrian said at last.

Imoen bit her lower lip. "I suppose that's true. I don't know what else Reynald has to do, but Anomen has the Order." A frown crossed her face.

Harrian gave her a knowing look as a silence settled upon the two of them for a few seconds once more. His voice was soft and thoughtful when he spoke again. "Bhaal spoke to you. In Hell." She looked at him sharply, and he shrugged. "Didn't he?"

Imoen faltered for a moment, then came to a halt and looked at him. "I… was angry," she stumbled. "And there was this voice in my head…"

"…telling you to accept the anger, use it, take the power against whoever wronged you. I know it," Harrian completed for her, his eyes serious. "When Anomen fell, from Irenicus' spell… he spoke to you. Offered you that power. You took it to bring Irenicus down." He reached out for her shoulder as she looked away, and squeezes it reassuringly. "I'm not criticising you, Im. No way. He's whispered in my ear before too… promised me the power to save the people I love, bring down the evil and pain, and… well, you saw what happened in the Underdark. I became the Slayer."

"However it ended, I gave into that part of myself." Imoen took a deep, shaking breath and shook her head. "I don't want to give in to the taint. I don't want to accept this Bhaal blood in me. I don't want to be a child of murder."

Harrian nodded slowly, pulling her along gently back along the forest path, his expression understanding. "Ah, but Imoen… you are so much more than that. We both are. And that's how we'll defeat the taint."

* *

"Anomen?"

Anomen tore his eyes away from the impressive greenery of Suldanessellar, straightening up and looking across to the door of the balcony that was attached to the rooms the elves had given him. They were large, impressive rooms; more luxurious than any he'd ever enjoyed, even at the height of his father's wealth… but for some reason, they encouraged him to stand outside more. Outside seemed more… real. There was something disconcerting about how ethereal the elven structures were.

His expression cleared up as he saw Imoen leaning against the door to the balcony, looking worn and tired but as chirpy as ever. The elves had almost insisted on giving the entire party a new wardrobe, and so the mage was wearing a long, emerald green gown that almost made her look stately. Her shocking pink hair rather managed to off-set the effect, however. Anomen didn't care – the mere sight of her was enough to raise his spirits, which was quite an achievement considering how cheerful he was with the resolution of their quest.

"My lady!" he said, his eyes lighting up as she crossed the balcony to stand next to him and lean against the railings. "I am glad you have come. We have not spoken since… the burial, last night." _And even then, our conversation was brief and contact fleeting_, he mentally added ruefully.

She nodded, smiling a little, though he could yet see the fatigue behind her eyes. "Yeah, I know… sorry. Things have been hectic. Demin wanted a full account of the adventures, to try and… I don't know. Understand Irenicus, or something." She shrugged. "I told her what she wanted to know, but I have no idea what she'll make of it. I don't want to. He's dead, and gone, and that's how it should be."

Anomen also nodded, leaning casually against the rails of the balcony. "You have spoken to Harrian? Where is he?"

Imoen shrugged. "Ellesime's been wanting to talk to him for ages now. He's finally run off to have a chat." A wicked grin crossed her face. "Then I think he wants to spend time with Jaheira. Whatever's happened, with his soul back, I haven't seen him this chirpy since we foiled Sarevok's plans back in Baldur's Gate."

Anomen returned the smile. "He has a right to be cheerful, I think, my lady."

She leant back a little, giving him a quirky, evaluating look. "How many times have I told you not to call me my lady, Anomen?"

His grin broadened, even though his expression became mildly sheepish. "At least as many times as I have called you so… my lady."

There was a short pause as Imoen's smile softened, and she looked down at her hands briefly. "I haven't yet thanked you for saving my life, have I," she said quietly, her tone becoming less teasing, more serious.

Anomen blinked, mildly astonished, and straightened up. "You need to thank me?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

She looked up at him, similarly surprised. "Well… yes. Anomen, that spell could have _killed _you…"

"It _would _have killed _you_," he replied calmly. "Your spell protections were down. I had the protection of Helm." He shifted slightly at her unconvinced expression. "Yes, my lady, it was a risk. But it was one I was willing to take." He lowered his hand slowly to grip hers, a little tentatively but with sincerity in his eyes.

"I thought you were dead," Imoen said quietly, frowning. "That's… that's why I was able to do it, you know. Bring Irenicus' defences down, I mean. I wouldn't have been able to do it, otherwise." She pulled back a little, reluctantly taking her hand out of his, and looked him in the eye firmly. "That's… sort of what gave me strength. It's what made me angry and afraid enough to find the power to do it."

Anomen stared. "I don't understand," he said blankly.

"The taint. It needs a door to get in, a way to tempt me. Bhaal… used my anger then. Told me to wield it and strike Irenicus down. I was afraid you were dead, and so took the power offered and used it against Irenicus," she said quietly, visibly miserable.

Anomen lowered his head, thinking for a moment, until he stepped forward and looked her in the eye again. "Is that supposed to chase me off?" he asked, his frankness surprising even himself. "You have been trying to do that since your soul was stolen." A slight feeling of betrayal was creeping up upon him.

Imoen looked at him indignantly. "Have I done it since?" she challenged, and shook her head. "No. I haven't." There was a pause as her expression softened, and she shrugged. "We've hardly spoken since," she acknowledged, lowering her head. "I just want you… need you… to understand."

Anomen tilted her head up by her chin gently. "Understand what?" he whispered, his brow furrowed.

"Understand… what it means. What it means for me to be a Bhaalspawn," Imoen replied, shifting uncomfortably, but at last not stepping back or pulling away from his touch.

There was a pause as Anomen assembled his thoughts in reply to this, and so when he spoke at last, his voice was low and thoughtful. "I don't think I quite understand. I'm not sure it's something I _can _understand without experiencing. But I've seen it – I've seen Harrian in his darkest times, lost under the control of the Slayer, and I've seen you struggling with the taint… even though I didn't realise what it was you were struggling at the time. I may not understand it. But I know it's there. And I know how very dark it can get." A slight, rueful smile tugged at his lips briefly. "As much as an outsider can know, that is. I am never going to presume to be able to truly understand."

Imoen's expression flickered for a moment as she regarded him. "I suppose I can't…" She paused, her voice trailing off, and stopped for a moment to assemble her thoughts. "It's partly why I didn't tell you originally. I didn't know how you'd take it. Haer'Dalis was… unique enough not to care, Harrian couldn't condemn me for it, Jaheira already knew… you… were an unknown," she confessed quietly.

"I did not condemn Harrian," Anomen reminded her gently, though he had been hoping for an explanation of this sort for a while.

She nodded. "True. But you never stayed up all night talking to Harrian just because you felt like it. You never got jealous when Haer'Dalis would talk to Harrian. You never stepped in front of a death spell for Harrian." A wry smile tugged at her lips.

"I _would _lay down my life for him," Anomen corrected, looking a little sheepish. "But, ah, your point is well made, my lady." He paused, looking at his hands. "And that is why you did not tell me?"

"I was afraid you'd push me away, condemn me… and for some reason it was more tempting to delay telling you so you'd certainly stay than explain it all to you and run the risk of you leaving. I know you did not condemn Harrian… but things are different between us," Imoen whispered.

Anomen nodded slightly. "Harrian is my friend," he agreed. "You are…" His voice trailed off, leaving him with a whole new world of complications as he realised he would probably have to finish that sentence at some point.

Imoen's smile gradually became more teasing. "I'm what?" she asked, catching his eye.

He opened his mouth slowly. "I… ah… words do not quite cover it, my lady," he said, and though his voice was a mixture of amusement and embarrassment, there was a sincerity in his expression that did not go unmissed.

She gave him a light, playful punch on the arm. "Oh? So I'm that wonderful, am I?" she joked.

"That wonderful and beyond, Imoen," he assured her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.

She visibly struggled against a smile for a few seconds, before losing and beaming happily at him. "You knightly types are all the same… with your flowery words, and all that…" She pulled her hand away to stroke his cheek gently.

"I am not the typical knight," Anomen reminded her, taking a step forward and, a little hesitantly, resting his forehead against hers. She didn't pull back, which he considered to be a good sign. "And I find myself incontinently unable to throw such flowery language around at will, unlike my fellows. When I say such things, I mean them, Imoen."

The broad, happy smile became a little more of a smirk, but her eyes were still shining. "Well, that's easy to say, isn't it… a bit harder to back up," Imoen teased, looking up at him. The contact, his lips on her hand, their bodies so close together, had triggered an intense jolt in her stomach, the sort of topsy-turvy sensation that was present before a battle, but of an altogether _far _more pleasant type.

"Not so much," Anomen mumbled, lowering his head slowly. Her eyes closed, their breath slowed, then their lips met gently.

Time stopped, and right then, neither of them cared much if it didn't start up again.

* *

Harrian looked around the large communal room the elves had given the party, which all their private quarters were connected to. It was where they met to eat dinner, so far, and although they'd spent precious little time together as a group, it was reassuring to be so close to the others.

At that moment, Reynald stood in the middle, having moved all the furniture to the walls, evidently doing his daily exercises. He was wearing an elven training garb that didn't quite fit his muscular frame; although the Fallen Knight was not a giant of a man, being larger than Anomen but having never been close to rivalling Minsc, his forearms were still bare, there was a rip around the neckline which showed adjustments he'd made, and if it weren't for the bastard sword Blade of Searing that he swung around with expert skill and speed, he would have looked quite comical.

"You don't need to switch weapons," Harrian said dryly, leaning against the wall. "The elves retrieved the Sword of Chaos. It somehow didn't end up being shattered or stuck so solidly in the ground that they couldn't retrieve it." He had mixed feelings about that sword. It had been Sarevok's, and a part of him wanted to just get rid of it, throw it out to sea and let it sink. The other part, well… wanted to hang onto to this last remembrance of his half-brother. And there was something satisfying about using it to do good.

"True," Reynald said, coming to a halt as he brought the Blade of Searing up into a half-salute and turned to face Harrian. "But a good warrior is skilled with several weapons. When I found myself without my claymore on the Tree of Life, all I had was a short sword I was inexpert at using. I shall not dwell, but I cannot help but think I might have got to Minsc sooner if I had borne a different blade."

Harrian considered briefly. "Then learn with a bastard sword, by all means. If you won't cart a shield around, that's the best weapon to have if you ever get disarmed."

"It takes strength to wield this one-handed," Reynald commented, swinging the sword efficiently. "And technique to wield it two-handed. Honing my battle skills is one of the few things I have left to fill my time which does not lead to dwelling. If I am to battle until redemption or death – or both – then I should at least be very good at that battling."

"You have other things, no? You said you played the lute. You sang briefly for us. Life does not need to be only about redemption." Harrian thought for a moment. "And redemption comes from things other than just battle. I doubt Torm wants only warriors. Torm wants… men of honour. Not just killers, battlers."

Reynald considered this for a moment. "I suppose Suldanessellar is a better place than most to… adapt to living life," he said slowly, sheathing the blade. There was a pause, then he glanced at Harrian. "You spoke to the Queen?"

Harrian nodded, looking grim. "She gave me the expected talk about how grateful she was. There is an official ceremony tonight about… general thanking of us all. That sort of thing. She told me a bit about Irenicus. I didn't really want to hear it, but she seemed insistent on venting. I made sympathetic noises." He shrugged, shaking his head. "I can't really understand her – doing that to someone she loved. Death would have been kinder. But I have no sympathy for Irenicus, either."

"Did she say any more?" Reynald asked, mopping his forehead with a towel and wiping the sweat from his brow. "About the rumours from the south?"

"About the Bhaalspawn? Some." Harrian shifted uncomfortably. "There have apparently been reports of armies forming in Tethyr… led by Bhaalspawn, allegedly. Battles. Increased fear of Bhaalspawn – some executions in smaller villages following murders."

"We cannot escape that forever, then," Reynald pointed out grimly. "It would be prudent to remain in Suldanessellar for the time being, gather as much information as possible instead of leaping into insanity."

"I agree."

They turned to see Jaheira striding calmly into the room, the druid looking quite at peace, if a little concerned by the conversation. She looked levelly at Harrian. "The destiny of the Bhaalspawn is catching up on us. But that is no reason to go gallivanting around the south."

Harrian looked indignant. "I wasn't thinking of doing so!" he said defensively. Behind him, Reynald chuckled and tossed the towel aside, heading off for his room to escape any 'conversation' between thief and druid.

"I should hope not," Jaheira said with a wry smile, shaking her head. She meandered over to one of the chairs Reynald had pushed to the edge of the room, and sank onto it, stretching out in a relaxed manner. "It is important. Troubled times are brewing. And we should… keep an eye on them… but…"

Harrian nodded, moving to sit down next to her, taking her hand casually and leaning back. "But don't we deserve some rest right now?"

Jaheira considered this, then raised a hand to his forehead. Harrian didn't react – for most people, it would be a judge of his temperature, which he'd usually think to be an odd sort of move at a time like this. For Jaheira, well… her druidic ways never ceased to confuse him, and she'd been doing this a lot over the last few days.

"How do you feel?" she asked at last.

Harrian gave her a smirk. "Well, a bit under the weather, healer. Have a temperature, and all my food tastes like rock…"

She clipped him around the ear lightly. "I was referring to your soul. How is it… settling?" Jaheira asked, brow furrowed with concern.

Harrian raised an eyebrow. "'Settling'? It's a soul, I don't know how much it _can _settle." He shrugged. "I feel fine. Better than fine. Better than I have in a while." He gave her an accusing look. "You never coddled Imoen like this after she got her soul back."

Jaheira pulled back and gave him a look. "I did happen to be dead when Imoen got her soul back," she reminded him, managing a wry smile that belayed his expression of guilt. "And are you complaining to the coddling?"

He chuckled. "Not at all. In fact, I might be feeling a bit under the weather… possibly bed rest would be the best way to deal with it," Harrian assured her, affecting an injured air, lounging back more.

Jaheira rolled her eyes, but her wry smile broadened as she leant over to kiss him gently, brushing his hair back. "You, Harrian Corias, are one of the most foolish men I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

"You seem to have made the most of that misfortune," Harrian pointed out, sitting up a bit and pulling her closer to him.

"There are worse misfortunes," she conceded, tracing a finger along his jaw, and there was a long silence for a moment as they just sat there, revelling in the presence of each other, left to their own thoughts until Jaheira continued. "You plan for us to stay here for… a while?"

"As long as is possible," he murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder. "We… need time to rest. To relax. I haven't enjoyed it since Baldur's Gate." He sighed. "There's much to do, I know. And things are stirring in the south…"

She gripped his hand, entwining their fingers. "There will always be things to do. Never be complete freedom. We just have to… savour these breaks. Allow them to last for as long as is possible."

Harrian nodded, glancing down at her. "I think we've earned a break. After all, when was the last time we got to just sit like this? Before… before Bodhi, certainly. And that was hardly a full rest." He paused, his brow furrowed. "I do wonder if…"

Jaheira glanced up as his voice trailed off, her expression thoughtful. "Wonder if what?" she asked quietly.

He paused, then shook his head slightly. "No. Never mind. Now is not the time for dark wonderings," he said, closing his eyes.

She nodded slowly, then kissed him again, and he did his best to banish thoughts about Irenicus, who was long gone, or the Bhaalspawn wars to the south, which were a long way away, focusing only on the now. There were issues he would have to contend with, battles left to be fought, a destiny still out there demanding his attention, and the whole question of his heritage and where it would take him to address… but right then, he did not need to contemplate it beyond the concerned consideration. It did not need to be his life.

Here, with his friends, his companions, and his lover… this was his life. Everything else – the wars, his destiny, his heritage – were just what he had to fight through to find that life.

_Well… there you go! That's the end of that. Scary, huh?_

_I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed this fic. I would name people in particular, but I'd probably forget someone important, and then I'd get embarrassed… just, ugh. ;-) Actually, no, I will thank Mija, who has been probably my most consistent reviewer. But you _all _rock. There is no way I could have finished this monstrosity of a fic without the support – days when I felt like giving up, I'd read the reviews, or receive a new one, and be reminded that, hey, people want to read my work!_

_I don't know if I'll be writing ToB directly after this. It's on the options list – along with two other things. So if you don't see ToB in a while, you'll probably find something in this section from me, regardless – or, in the NWN category. My CRPG tastes stretch beyond Infinity (hah. Yes. I crack myself up)._

_Anyway, just going to slink off and breathe somewhere now… phew… it's finished!_


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